


Running Across a Barren Sky

by siriuslymerlin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Sirius Black Raises Harry Potter, dumbledore forced to recognize people as people and not pawns, genderswapped golden trio, girl!Harry, sirius gets the trial he deserves, we love indian girl main characters, wolfstar as parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 53,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslymerlin/pseuds/siriuslymerlin
Summary: Sirius Black is an innocent man. He's been clinging to this fact for five years, and for those same five years, Harriet Euphemia Potter has been living with her aunt and uncle, not to mention her near-insufferable cousin, just hoping that there was something better for her out there. Together, they fill the empty spaces inside their hearts, and right a monumental wrong.Wolfstar raises a trio-gender-switched girl!Harri.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 51
Kudos: 265





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, I have seen this concept done a few times, and I’ll recc my fave, so I figured I’d give it a shot. Enjoy!
> 
> Recc: https://harrypotterfanfiction.com/viewstory.php?psid=321302&showRestricted

The summer of 1987 is sweltering. Even the prisoners in Azkaban can feel it, despite the constant chill from the dementors. Sirius Black is one such prison, sweating in the confines of his small cell. He sits on the floor, next to a stack of yellowing newspapers, fanning himself with one of them. He watches as Phillip Hotchkiss, who’s meant to be surveying the prisoners, makes his way slowly through the compound, cowering behind his duck Patronus.

“Hullo,” Sirius calls out, half just wanting to test his voice.

“Er,” Hotchkiss stammers, stopping in front of his cell. “Hello, Mr. Black.” Sirius snorts, raising his eyebrow. Hotchkiss is young, perhaps 18 or 19, just fresh out of school. He hasn’t developed the sense to be rude and degrade the prisoners yet.

“No need to stand on ceremony, Philly,” he says. “We’re all friends here.” Sirius pauses, frowning, and tilts his head towards the dementors crowding just beyond the Patronus’s reach. “Well, except for them, I suppose.”

“Er, right,” Hotchkiss mutters, looking down to the paper clutched in his hand. Sirius looks at it with intrigue. It’s been ages since he’s last had a paper.

“Could I have that? The paper, I mean,” Sirius asks, trying for a charming smile. He’s not sure how it comes out, because Hotchkiss recoils, but hands over paper nonetheless.

“Cheers, mate,” Sirius says brightly—well, as bright as he can get in a place like this, where his very soul seems to cling to him from a few wispy strands. “Ta very much. I rather enjoy the crossword.”

“Er, sure,” Hotchkiss says, a pinch louder than before. “I’ve got to get on, then.” Sirius nods, scooting back to try and find a cool stretch of wall. Of course, with the blessed cool comes the deep, creeping dread, the kind that gnaws at you, ripping away parts of until there’s just pale, dry bone. Sirius has become an expert at ignoring it.

He flicks the paper open, focusing solely at the words.

_THE GIRL WHO LIVED, WHERE IS SHE NOW?_

_Rita Skeeter_

_Not a person alive has forgotten the great and terrible day when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was defeated by a child, a blessed, powerful child perhaps, but a child nonetheless. Little Harriet Potter was only a year and a half when she vanquished him. Unfortunately, Harriet lost her parents that night as well, clearly not powerful enough to save them. But without her parents, who’s left to look after her? Who’s there to guide her, to teach her our ways and customs? Surely not a set of muggles? For the past six years, has little Harriet learned our ways, our traditions? Is she out frolicking with other children or shut away for her own safety. And the biggest question of them all remains: who made the decision to leave her where she is?_

_Anyways, a very happy birthday to you, little Harriet!_

The little blurb is tucked away into a corner, not really meant to be read, but her name had caught his eye instantly. A deep ache filled him, worse than anything a dementor could do, expanding within him until there was nothing else.

Harri.

He remembers the day she was born, the chaos, the panic, and the pure exhilaration. He remembers pacing frantically in James’ and Lily’s little house, trying desperately to reach James, who’d been out on a baby errand with Moony.

“Fuck it!” Lilly had shrieked, clutching his bicep, and scaring the shit out of him. “We’re going now!” Sirius had turned pale, stuttering out excuses before Lily grabbed his shoulders and hauled him down to look her in the eye.

“Listen to me, wanker,” she’d snarled. “We’re going to get on your fucking bike, and we’re going to fly to St. Mungo’s, do you understand?”

Now, he’d never been scared of Lily, or even intimidated by her. For the nine years he’d known her, she’d been sweet, kind, and clever. In that moment, however, he had no doubt that if he didn’t listen to her, she’d really make him regret it. So, he’d nodded, and helped her out to the garden, where he’d set his bike against the low wall.

He remembered roaring through the sky, mirror gripped in one hand, shouting for Prongs to get his sorry arse down to St. Mungo’s, lest he miss the birth of his child.

He remembered hauling Lily up into his arms, ignoring her yelps and the way she dug her nails into his shoulder. He remembers them ushering her away, asking if he was the father, and just as he lying that he was—Lily had been terrified of the idea of doing it alone—Moony had come sprinting down the hallway, yelling that the baby was his. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Sirius to do it. The healer had scowled at the both of them, perhaps about to say something particularly rude, when James had finally turned up, looking worse for wear and clutching a collection of soft toys.

“Let me guess,” drawled the healer. “You’re the father, too?”

“Er, yes,” Prongs had gasped out. Apparently, he’d sprinted all the way here from muggle London. “I actually am though. That’s my wife in there, Lily Ev—Potter.”

The healer rolled her eyes, gesturing for James to go on. He grinned at her, shooting her a mock salute.

“Ta, love,” he’d said. He’d shaken a stuffed deer at Sirius, who snickered and wished him luck, before disappearing though the doors. A few hours later, James had come back to where he and Moony waited, joined by Wormtail by then.

“Little girl,” he’d said, beaming. “Tiny little dove with a whole head of the Potter family hair. Lils is doing just fine.”

“Can we see her?” Moony asked eagerly. James nodded, gesturing for them to go back. Sirius had made to follow, but James had stopped him, suddenly somber.

“Listen,” he’d started. “You’re my best mate, and you were there for Lils when I wasn’t.”

“Aw, Prongs, don’t get all emotional, now,” James ducked his head, chuckling softly.

“Shut it, arsehole,” he said, not a lick of malice behind his words. “I’m a dad now. I’m allowed to be as utterly naff and crap as possible.”

“Oh, she’ll love you for that,” Sirius teased.

“Listen, though, we were thinking we’d like to make you godfather.” James adopted a sly look, on corner of his mouth pulling up “The dogfather if you will.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius said, gob smacked. “Me? And Lils agreed to this?”

“Course, she suggested it, even,” he’d said. “So? You’ll do it?”

“Fuck, of course,” he’d agreed. “Shit, can’t swear around the baby, can I? Have to mind that.”

“You and me both, mate.” With that, James had steered him in. The room had been small, but warm, full of sunlight. Lily, looking exhausted, beamed at him when he walked in.

“What did he say?” she asked, voice hoarse.

“What could I have said?” he’d teased, leaning down to wrap her up in a hug and pressed a kiss to her sweaty temple.

“Good,” she said resolutely. “You’ll have to wait your turn to hold her. There’s a queue, apparently.”

Moony, who was holding her currently, stuck his tongue out, before returning to coo at the baby. Peter was skittish with her, holding her precariously before passing her along to James, who kissed her tiny forehead before gesturing to Sirius.

He remembers holding her carefully, impossibly still as he cradled her in his arms. She was the spitting image of James, with her button nose, warm brown skin, and shock of black curls. She yawned, her little pink mouth opening and closing. She blinked slowly, and Sirius found his throat was trying to close up. Her eyes were all Lily, brilliant bottle green, so clear and strong for a newborn.

“What’s her name?” he choked out.

“Harriet Euphemia,” Lily said softly. “For our mums.”

“We’re thinking Harri, though,” James said. “For short.”

Harri. Sirius has made it a point not to think about the poor little girl whose life he’d completely obliterated. That she was without her parents was his fault entirely. He’d been so stupid to suggest it, to tell James to change their secret keeper last second, to tell no one because they could trust no one. 

Sirius sits there, pressed against the only cool spot in his cell, ignoring the dementors who swarm around outside, hoping for a taste of him. He makes it a point not to ever think of his happy memories, to play the dark ones over and over, to focus on his anger instead, laid bare before the dementors can do it for him.

Tonight, though, is different.

He can’t help it, thinking about that little cottage in Godric’s Hollow. It had been something of a sanctuary for him, despite being a literal cage for James. He thinks of Lily and the way she’d sweep through the cottage, Harri balanced on her hip, so thrilled to see him. He thinks of James throwing his arms around Sirius, clutching like a desperate man, angry to be put away while his friends were out fighting. He thinks of little Harri, who was already too smart and quick for her age, crawling, then walking—eventually running too—before her time.

There was a moment, when things were quiet, a few weeks after Harri’s first birthday, where he’d been in their sitting room, watching Harri whilst Lily cooked lunch. He’d transformed for her—it made her laugh and clap her little hands—and was lazily trotting around the coffee table, while Harri toddled after him, determined to grab his tail.

“Pa’foo!” she’d cried, frustrated she couldn’t reach him. He froze, stunned, and Harri latched onto his tail, grinning like she’d won a prize. “Pa’foo.”

Lily stuck her head into the sitting room, an incredulous expression on her face.

“Did she just…?” Sirius transformed back, and Harri looked up reproachfully at him, a tiny frown on her little mouth.

“Pa’foo!” This was a demand, and Sirius barked out a laugh, transforming again to oblige her.

“James!” Lily hollered up the stairs. “Come down! You won’t believe what your daughter’s saying.”

There was an almighty crash, then the sound of thumping footsteps before James burst into the sitting room.

“What?” Sirius barked, nudging Harri gently with his nose. She giggled, reaching up to pet him.

“Pa’foo!” James had beamed then, swooping over and swing Harri in a high arc before hugging her close.

“That’s right, darling! That’s Padfoot! What a clever girl! Who’s a clever girl? You are!” He nuzzled her cheek and Sirius sat up, human again, cackling.

“Who’s a naff dad?” Sirius teased, in the same sing-song voice James had on. “Who’s the naffest dad in all of England? You are!” He tousled James’ hair, ducking good-naturedly when the blushing naff dad himself took a swing.

“She really is clever,” Lily said, taking Harri from James so she’s be safe for the ensuing wrestling match. Sirius had been laughing too hard to really put up a good fight, so James easily tackled him to the floor. “She’s up to six words now.”

“Well,” Sirius grunted, shoving James’ face into the carpet. “I reckon this is the only that counts.”

Sirius sits in that same spot for hours, straining his memory, because once he’d opened the floodgates, he might as well relish the memories. The trouble is, the good brings the pain, and with that, come hungry dementors.

It’s late at night—or perhaps very early in the morning (Sirius hasn’t seen the time in years now) when he remembers one of the questions the article had brought up. Was Harri safe? Was she happy? Sirius wracked his brains, wondering who’d gotten her. Euphemia and Fleamont had died in 1979, and Lily’s mum and dad had died two years after that, just a few months before Lily herself had died. Who was left?

Then, it hit him.

Petunia, and oh, what was the name of her husband? The horrible one, who looked quite like a walrus in a wig. They were in Surrey, if he remembered. Or London? Maybe Cokeworth.

Had they taken in Harri? Were they kind to her? Sirius remembers the strained relationship Lily had with her sister. It was something she and Sirius bonding over, their ruined relationships with their siblings. 

He had to know, he had to see, just once, that Harri was happy. How old was she now? Sirius grabs the paper and did some quick calculations. Not quite seven, then. He rolls his eye; the stupid reporter, this Skeeter woman, had gotten the date wrong.

Then, in his dark, sweltering cell, with weak shafts of moonlight streaming in through the bars, Sirius did something he hadn’t done in years. He transformed.

Padfoot shakes himself, stretching and yawning. He is hungry. When had he last eaten? He pads over to the bars sniffs them inquisitively. A dementor passes by, gliding right past him. Padfoot presses against the bars, turning his head this was and that. There’s a squeeze, then Padfoot’s head pokes out the cell. He wriggles some more, twisting and working his limbs free.

Padfoot stumbles, gains his footing and looks around. He stares back at the cage he was in and growls softly, intent on finding something to eat. The dementors floating above pay him no mind, swooping over the other cages. The humans cry out, some wail and weep, but others just scream. Some are silent.

There is nothing on the island, but not too far, there is another patch of rock. Padfoot bounds into the icy, dark water and swims. It feels like an eternity before he has made it to the next patch of land. Exhausted and cold, Padfoot shakes himself dry and curls up against himself. There will be nothing to eat now.

He wakes to warmth, light from the setting sun drenching him. For a moment, he wavers, Sirius and Padfoot battling to be in control. Padfoot wins. He opens one eye lazily, holding himself still. There are birds here, squawking and picking at the barren ground. The one closest to him hasn’t noticed his presence.

Carefully, slowly, Padfoot pulls himself up, tensing to pounce. The bird stills for a second, before resuming it’s pecking. Padfoot pounces, lightning quick, and catches the bird between his teeth. Blood, rich and inviting, coats his tongue, and he savors it for a brief moment before jerking violently, snapping the bird’s neck. The other birds scatter, squawking and shrieking. Padfoot pays them no mind, gulping down the meat he rends from it’s body. It’s not much, a few mouthfuls, but it’ll do for now.

There’s a few scant trees on this patch of rock, and Padfoot curls under one of them, inexplicably exhausted. The sky darkens overhead, thunder rolling. Padfoot presses himself to the tree close, determined to stay dry. The rain is quick but heavy, drenching the world and cutting through the oppressive heat, even if for a moment. It’s nearly morning by the time Padfoot gives up his hiding place.

There are a few puddles of clean water amidst the rock, and Padfoot gulps down his share, shaking himself dry. Somewhere, deep in his mind, Sirius recoils, but then he remembers the years in the cell, that freedom tastes good enough to make up this.

There are more islands, past this, and vaguely, in the distance, Padfoot can see a bigger land. He’ll go there, he decides, before plunging himself into the water once more.

Padfoot doesn’t know how many days he swims and stops, but it goes on and on until he can feel Sirius slowly slipping away. Finally, he comes up on the shore as the sun sets on what could be the seventh or eighth day. Padfoot slumps on the sand, lowering his head, and letting Sirius come back to him.

Sirius gasps, weighed down by his hair and his dripping prisoners robes. He looks around, finding a solitary gray building. He knows this place, vaguely. His mind is hazy from having spent so much time as Padfoot.

An office, he realizes, for the administrative work to be done for the prisoners of Azkaban. Also, if he remembers correctly, where they stow wands for prisoners awaiting trial. After five horribly long years, that still includes him. He staggers over to the tree, hiding behind one to watch.

A young man slips out from the building, waving his wand before disappirating. Sirius creeps over to the building slowly, trying the door. Of course, it’s locked. He sighs, then reaches for a fallen tree branch, bracing himself. There’s no way this will be controlled.

“Alohomora,” he tries. The front wall of the build explodes, sending Sirius sailing. He groans as he hits the hard ground. Sirius sits up carefully, checking himself for injury. A few bruises, but he’ll live.

“God, I fucking hate uncontrolled magic,” he croaks, getting up and heading inside the remains of the building. Thankfully, it’s not as trashed as he thought it would be. Sirius picks his way through the rubble, looking for files.

One of the few sheaf’s of parchment intact catches his eye. Bellatrix Lestrange. Sirius grins darkly. Good, he thinks, let her rot. 

Thankfully, the blast breaks open the cabinet meant to be holding wands. A dozen or so unmarked boxes tumble out, and Sirius has to dig to find his. He grabs it, hoisting it up triumphantly. A rush of brightness rips through him. He feels electric, alive, likes he’s just been jolted awake.

To practice, Sirius puts the building back to rights, which doesn’t take long. He’s happy to do it, happy to feel the magic coursing through his veins. The building looks normal after a few hours, but it’s terribly dark, so he shifts back into Padfoot, gripping the wand between his teeth.

Padfoot trots a long time, until the first few rays of morning light. He sits up on top of a hill, outside a town called Corsham, watching the sun rise. There’s no one around, so he shifts back to Sirius and lays in the lush grass.

The sun is warm, but it’s a welcome heat, kind and gentle. The air is sweet here, where he can no longer smell the saltwater. Sirius savors the moment, unsurprised he’s weeping, even though he’d never really been the crying type.

Freedom, he thinks, freedom, then Harri.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Little Whinging, there’s only one play park the children like to spend their time in during the summer holidays, and it’s the one past the neighborhoods, closest to town, where you can smell the chippy if there’s enough of a breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Still working out the lengths of chapters and the perspectives, so please let me know if there’s something unclear, or if you’re left wanting. Enjoy!

In Little Whinging, there’s only one play park the children like to spend their time in during the summer holidays, and it’s the one past the neighborhoods, closest to town, where you can smell the chippy if there’s enough of a breeze.

There are around twenty children around, but not a parent in sight. It’s been three days since term ended, and the parents of St. Grogery Primary school are already at wits end with their children. Even Petunia Dursley, who’s been known to wax poetic about her son to anyone who’ll listen, sent her children off to play, so she could lounge in the cool kitchen, spying on Mrs. Next Door.

Of course, Mrs. Dursley will also tell anyone who’ll listen she only has one child, and that the spare is simply that, a spare.

Harriet Euphemia Potter did not look like her aunt, uncle, or cousin. For starters, her skin was a warm brown color, and the most color the Dursleys got was patchy red from being in the sun too long. Her hair was a wild mane of black curls, long for a six-year-old. No matter how Petunia hacked at it, it simply grew back, unkempt as ever.

They’d sit in the kitchen, Harri kneeling between Petunia’s bony knees, as she yanked a comb through the veritable sheet of curls.

“This is all your father’s fault,” Petunia would hiss, holding up the latest comb that had been sacrificed to Harri’s hair. There would always be teeth that had snapped off, the plastic unable to hold its own against the thick curls.

“Unkempt!” she’d snarl. “It seems to be hereditary.”

Harri would try to explain that she always took care to comb her hair after her bath, and it sat nicely then, but she couldn’t plait her hair, so it always became messy. However, Aunt Petunia was not a fan of that excuse.

“Why won’t you ask one of your little playmates to plait it for you,” Aunt Petunia would sniff, pushing Harri away. Harri would frown, wondering why she’d ask knowing full well Harri didn’t have any friends. “I certainly don’t have the time to sit there every morning and plait your hair.”

Harri also had bottle green eyes, a stark variation from her ‘family’s’ pale blue eyes. Aunt Petunia would bring herself to tears over Dudley, who had fine blond hair and pale blue eyes, calling him a “darling angel, a gorgeous cherub.” Personally, Harri rather thought he looked like a pig in blond wig, considering his immense size. He looked to be about nine or ten, instead of six. Uncle Vernon would chortle and ruffle Dudley’s hair, blathering on about all the hearts he’d break one day.

Harri was small, too. In fact, she looked more like a child of four than a soon to be seven-year-old. Her arms and legs were twiggy, her frame slight. Her ribs poked out and the notches of her spine were prominent. Still, she didn’t look sickly or frail, and for this reason, she was a favorite target for the bigger boys.

Today, Harri plays at the corner of the park, away from the equipment. She’s playing potions, a favorite of hers. She could only play out here, because the last time she’d played in the house, Uncle Vernon had absolutely lost his top, turning so profoundly red, he looked like a radish with a mustache. He’d grabbed Harri by her wrist and swung her into her ‘room’—which was really the cupboard under the stairs—and bolted it shut, hissing she’d have no more meals until she’d had time to reflect on her actions.

This was a favorite punishment of Uncle Vernon’s. He was employing it currently, because Harri had come home on the last day of term with a bad conduct mark. Apparently, the school had found her climbing the building, though she’d insisted over and over again that she hadn’t. How she’d found herself on the roof was a mystery. She’d been trying to hide from the boys of class 1A, her cousin’s class, when she run to the side of the school, where the bins were. All she’d planned on doing was hopping up onto the bins, perhaps hiding there, but a sudden burst of wind had carried her up.

“You are a very naughty little girl,” Headmistress Roemmele had said. “It’s very unladylike to be climbing at all!”

So Harri had been dismissed from the house without her breakfast or lunch, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she’d been excited to have the afternoon to herself, to mix her potions.

“Oi,” someone calls. “Potty!”

Harri stiffens, pretending not to hear. If she cried, the boys would call her a pathetic, wet little girl, but if she fought, the girls would call her a beast. Harri figured eventually, once the boys stopped picking on her, she could get some of the girls to play dolls with her. She even had one now. A few weekends ago, Aunt Petunia had gone shopping, and was forced to tote Harri around as well, as Mrs. Figg, the woman who usually watched her, had bridge Saturday afternoons.

Harri had been admiring a particularly interesting doll, so old and faded her skin almost looked brown, when the shopkeeper had smiled and asked Aunt Petunia if she’d wanted to buy it for her. Harri had almost laughed right then and there, and Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon.

“It’s only 90 p,” the shopkeeper offered. To Harri’s immense surprise, Aunt Petunia huffed and began digging through her purse for change. She produced a single quid and thrust it into Harri’s hand. Harri had happily made her purchase and thanked Aunt Petunia until she snapped that Harri’s voice gave her a headache.

So far, though, Harri had not been asked to join the other girls to play princess, but she hoped it would only be a matter of time.

“Oi, Potty! We’re talking to you!” Piers Polkiss, one of Dudley’s mates, grabs her shoulder and spins her around. “What’s the little girl got?”

“You’re playing potions,” Dudley sneers. “You’re not allowed. I’ll have to tell Mummy and Daddy!”

“Gonna go crying to mummy then,” Harri sneers right back, hands planted on her hips. “Go on, Diddy.”

Several children, who’d stopped to watch this exchange, snicker, and Dudley goes puce. Harri smiles sweetly at him.

“Go on, Dinky Diddydums,” Harri says, triumphant. “Go on and tell mummy all about the naughty girl who scared ickle Diddykins.”

“Shut up!” Dudley roars, throwing himself at Harri. She sprints away, dodging his blows. Piers looks decidedly uncomfortable as one of the bigger kids makes his way over, just as Dudley grabs her by the hair and shakes her about.

“Oi!” he says. “Leave that girl alone! Can’t you see she’s not even in school yet?” The entire play yard snickers as the boy, perhaps the oldest here at 11 years old, crouches down.

“Do you know where you live?” he asks, as if he’s talking to a very small child. Harri blanches. “I’ll help you home.”

“I am in school. I’ll going to class two at the start of term!” The boy rears back, surprised.

“Oh,” he says, stepping aside. “Tetchy little thing, innit?” Piers and Dudley decide this is much funnier than anything they could’ve dished out and begin howling with laughter. The boy shrugs, hiding a smile and going back to his own mates.

Harri stalks off, abandoning her game. For a while, she wanders around, going up and down the main street, looking longingly into the chippy. She watches the ducks in the pond for a bit, but this becomes boring, and she ends up back at the park, rebuilding her set.

The sun is low in the sky now, but Harri doesn’t mind. Harri loses herself in her game. There, she’s a girl in a traveling show, who makes special potions. She’s making a potion to make friends, to give to all the people who come to see the show. Harri hums tunelessly, ripping up grass and sprinkling it into the puddle she’s been playing it. She stares back at her handiwork, but it needs something.

“Flowers,” she mumbles to herself. Harri spots a bush nearby, with little yellow blooms dotting it. She heads over and that’s when she see’s it. The dog.

A huge, black, bearlike dog.

She blinks at it and it blinks back. Harri stands there frozen. The dog takes a step forward and she flinches, shutting her eyes and waiting.

\---

Sirius makes his way through Corsham carefully, stealing into one of the shops and filching an old overcoat. It does nothing for the heat, but it hides his prisoners robes well enough. Then, he nabs a phonebook. It takes hours, but he finally finds the Dursley’s, or at least, Vernon. He’s listed as head of sales for a company called Grunnings, which sounds appropriately tedious.

Sirius hangs around in as many consignment shops in London as possible, building up an outfit and a spare, all shoved into a rucksack. He feels terrible for stealing, but he’s got no money, nor can he do any magic, lest the Department of Magical Law find him.

Grunnings is a huge building in Surrey’s bustling city center. Sirius hangs about, watching the people coming and going, trying to guess which one was Vernon Dursley. He finds after a few hours, one of the last stragglers, looking just as big as Sirius remembers, clutching a bag of pastries.

Following him home is a bit difficult, but Sirius manages, and he finds himself in Little Whinging, a quiet sort of town where all the houses looked the same and all the husbands worked for the same few companies.

Sirius watched the house as Padfoot carefully. He hid in a bush across the street, waiting for a glimpse of Harri. He got it the next morning, as the children were going to school, and he simply stood there, surprised. This was not the scene he’d imagined at all!

He’d recognized Harri immediately, but she was small in the extreme, dwarfed in her school uniform. Her cousin—Sirius couldn’t remember his name—was much the opposite, big and hulking which was surprising, considering they were the same age.

Petunia, looking as thin and horse-like as ever, gives her son a good hug, pressing kisses to his pink face. Harri stands a few feet away, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Petunia looks over to her, frowning.

“Behave yourself, today,” she says sharply to Harri, who sighs before nodding. “Don’t be rude!” With that, she pinches Harri’s arm before pushing her along. Sirius snarls, low and guttural. Harri doesn’t yelp or cry, but she does flinch.

And so, it goes, for four days, that Sirius sits outside of Number 4 Privet drive and watches as Harri is prodded, poked, screamed at, and ignored. He seethes with silent fury every time she’s made to do a chore she’s not old enough for. Every muscle in his body tenses when Vernon grabs her by the shoulder or wrist, always shaking her tiny body.

Harri never yells back, but she mutter a great deal under her breath, and sometimes, when she’s made to be tending the garden—what six year old should be handling a push mower?—he can hear her clever little remarks.

She’s incredibly intelligent, witty, and resilient, and Sirius’s heart breaks for James and Lily who never got to know just how wonderful their kid was.

On the last day of term, the second day of Sirius’s vigil, Petunia drags Harri inside, hissing vitriol. From what Sirius can make out, she’s in trouble for climbing to the top of the school, which in and of itself is odd. He sincerely doubts she’d be able to make the climb with her spindly little limbs.

This, however, doesn’t occur to the Dursley’s because Sirius can hear them yelling clear all the way outside, even as a human. They shut her up in house all weekend, only worrying Sirius further. What kind of punishments could they give her, if they could treat her like they do normally.

Sirius thinks back to his own painful childhood, of being forced inside the airing cupboard when he was “naughty”, of suffering Walabugra’s pinches and slaps, of Orion’s sharp hits and kicks. He remembers being sixteen, caught in a fight with his father, wondering why the hell he put up with this, and just as Orion’s fist collided with his jaw, Sirius had decided “no more” and left.

Harri isn’t sixteen, though, and she’ll need someone to decide for her. That job falls to Sirius. So, on the fourth day of his Vigil, as Harri and her cousin are banished from the house, Padfoot follows them to the park, finding a place in the bushes to hide and watch.

He watches as Dudley and his mate torment her, as the older boy embarrasses her, and finally, hours later, as she plays quietly by herself. Potions, he thinks with a smile. Lily would be so damn proud.

It’s then that she sees him.

Harri stands there, eyes shut, waiting for Sirius to make his move. He’s a little surprised she hasn’t screamed, but then again, she’s got that old Gryffindor spirit in her. He transforms back, standing carefully before her. He’s dressed in his muggle clothes, old jeans and an pale grey woolen jumper. It was the only this he could snatch, so he’d risked a cooling charm on the jumper.

“Hello,” he says, clearing his throat a little. Harri opens her eyes, astonished to find Sirius there. She looks around, then back at Sirius.

“Hello,” she says politely. “Excuse me, but, have you seen a dog? A great, big black dog? He was just here.”

“Maybe he’ll be back,” Sirius says noncommittally. “What are you playing?”

Harri regards him curiously, and suddenly, Sirius can’t imagine how this looks, a grungy looking man talking to this small child.

“Er, it’s just,” he fumbles to explain. “My name is Padfoot.”

“Hullo,” Harri repeats. “Mine’s Harri, er, Harriet.” Sirius quirks an eyebrow.

“Which is it? Harri, or Harriet?” he asks. Harri looks a bit lost but raises her chin.

“Just Harri, thanks.

“Do you often play alone Harri?” he asks, squatting beside her. Harri shrugs without looking at him.

“Sometimes,” she admits softly. She clears her throat and looks at him head-on with clear, unafraid eyes. “I don’t mind.”

“Is your cousin always like that,” he asks, moving back so she can pluck the flowers from the bush.

“I can mind Dudley,” Harri says, which, without answering the question, says a lot.

“Do you like your aunt and uncle?” This earns a peculiar look from Harri, who regards him a little coolly.

“Do you know them?” she asks. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“I did know them,” he confesses. “Actually, I knew your mum and dad, as well.” Harri’s eyes light up and a slow smile spreads across her face.

“Really! You know them?” Harri stops, considering the flowers in her hands. “They’re dead though. They died in a car crash a long time ago, when I was a baby. It’s how I got this.” She brushes back her fringe, revealing the thin lightning shaped scar. Sirius grits his teeth, surprised.

“A car crash? Who told you that?” he asks, working to keep his voice level. What a cruel lie to tell to a child.

“My Aunt Petunia,” Harri says simply, walking back to her puddle and depositing the flowers. She stirs the concoction with a stick before nodding at it. “How did you know my parents?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang, hope you enjoyed! We’re getting into some explanations, so stay tune and leave a comment telling me what you thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We were at school together,” Sirius admits. He can understand why they wouldn’t have said anything about him. Petunia and her husband had probably swallowed up the same lie the wizarding world had. “At Hogwarts. We were all Gryffindors together.” This seemed particularly important for Harri to get. Perhaps she’d understand him better if she knew his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a bit early, but hope you enjoy!

“We were at school together,” Sirius admits. He can understand why they wouldn’t have said anything about him. Petunia and her husband had probably swallowed up the same lie the wizarding world had. “At Hogwarts. We were all Gryffindors together.” This seemed particularly important for Harri to get. Perhaps she’d understand him better if she knew his house.

“What’s that?” Harri asks, looking up at him now, tilting her head like a cat. Sirius blanches, confused. He’d known the houses and their prominent figures before he could do up his own shoelaces.

“Hogwarts,” he says slowly. “Our school.”

“Is that here? In Surrey?” Harri sits back on her heel’s giving him her full attention now.

“What? No, it’s in Scotland,” Sirius says, incredulous. “Harri, haven’t your aunt and uncle told you about Hogwarts? Aren’t you excited to go?”

“I still have to go to St. Grogery’s,” Harri says. “I’ll be in class two next term.”

“After your primary school,” Sirius prompts, waiting for her to catch on.

“Hm, ’spect I’ll be going to Stonebrigde High School,” Harri says glumly. “That’s where they naughty children go.”

Sirius feels as though he’s been slapped. Did she genuinely not know? Sirius crouches next to her, looking her right in the eyes. Harri meets his eye, unperturbed.

“Harri, you’ll go to Hogwarts, where your mum and dad went. It’s where you’ll learn it all,” Sirius explains. Harri huffs, frustrated now. Sirius blinks uncertainly; had he made her angry? Fuck, he was pure shite with children.

“Learn what? What’s Hogwarts for?” she demands, crossing her little arms. Then she deflates, shaking her head. “Sorry, it’s just, I’m a bit lost.”

Sirius grins at her politeness, shrugging.

“Don’t apologize. Hogwarts is where young witches and wizards learn their magic. That where I met your parents, and—and the others.” Harri looks around, a nervous expression overtaking her face. She steps closer, and suddenly, it occurs to Sirius that she’s scared.

“Magic isn’t real,” she says. “There’s no such thing as witches and wizards.”

It sounds rehearsed, like Harri’s heard this over and over again until the words had stuck. Sirius scowls, stands abruptly. Harri stumbles back, surprised.

“Right,” he mutters, seething. “Right! We’re going to Petunia’s house.”

“Um, I don’t think I’m allowed to—“

“Never mind, just follow me!” With that, he shifts to Padfoot, ignoring her little outburst of surprise. He trots down the road, following the familiar scent to Number 4, Privet drive. Harri keeps up with him, surprisingly fast for a girl of not-yet-seven.

Sirius jolts up suddenly, staggering a bit at the sudden change. He gestures for Harri to go ahead, and after a minute of uncertainty, she does, knocking on the door. It opens almost immediately, and Sirius finds himself face to face with Petunia Dursley, someone he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“You!” she hisses, breathless. Her face is even thinner in person, long and angular. She really couldn’t be considered a pretty woman, he decides.

“Aunt Petunia, do you know him?” Harri pipes up, only for Petunia to immediately shush her.

“Get inside, the pair of you, before anyone sees,” she says, rushing the pair of them inside. “You, into the kitchen!” Sirius is bodily shoved down the narrow hallway over to the kitchen. Petunia turns to Harri, who moves to follow. “Not a chance! Go to the cu—go to your room!”

Harri sighs, but she doesn’t go one upstairs, like Sirius expects. Instead, she opens the cupboard under the stairs and steps inside. Sirius doesn’t get a minute to dwell on it because Petunia shoves him further inside and slams the door.

“You’ll have to be quick,” she says, hands on her hips. “Vernon will be home soon and I don’t want you around.”

“I’ve watched you, you know,” he says coolly, immediately fighting back the urge to cringe. Cor, does he sound like a loon or what? “You’re not very good to her.”

“You’ve got no idea,” Petunia sputters, flushing pink. “The most difficult child ever! All her teachers have run out of ideas!”

“She seems perfectly lovely to me,” Sirius contradicts her.

“Of course, she would, you’re one of her kind.” Petunia fusses about the kitchen, putting things away. “What do you want?”

“Harri doesn’t know about anything,” Sirius says. “She doesn’t even know about magic!”

“Well! I swore when we took her in, we wouldn’t have one! Look what it did to my sister!”

“Don’t you dare talk about her—“

“Petunia, love, I’m home, have you made the tea—“

In that moment, Vernon Dursley burst into the room, or really, waddled energetically in, a jovial smile on his face that quickly fades away. He looks from Petunia to Sirius, squinting like he couldn’t place who Sirius was.

“Who’s this, then?” Vernon asks, arms crossed and mustache quivering. Petunia looks suddenly frightened, hurrying over to her husband.

“He’s, well, he’s one of my sister’s people—“

“What!” Vernon cries, going promptly puce, mustache quivering so hard it threatened to fall off. “Out! I want you out!”

“I’m not leaving,” Sirius says stubbornly. “I came to make sure Harri was looked after, that she was happy, and you’ve clearly failed her. You haven’t explained anything to her, not about her parents, about Hogwarts, or even magic itself!”

“There’s no such thing as magic!” Vernon barks. “You’re ill!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sirius groans. Sighing, he brings out his wand and levitates a teacup, one of the only things Petunia hadn’t put away in her haste to keep Sirius from filching anything.

“How’d you do that?” Harri pokes her head into the kitchen, eyes as big as saucers. Not even a second later, Dudley shoves her roughly to the ground and hurries in, coming to stand a bit behind his father, looking equally intrigued.

“You made that cup float! Are you some sort of magician?” the boy asks.

“THERE’S. NO. SUCH. THING. AS. MAGIC!” Vernon yells. “Girl! Get back in your room!”

There’s a moment where everyone’s gone silent, stunned by Vernon’s outburst. Sirius looks at him curiously. How can he stand there and deny magic, when Sirius knows for a fact he’s seen it? Maybe he’s the ill one.

“Listen, mate,” Sirius starts, decidedly unsure where he’s going with this. “Harri deserves better—“

“If she’s going to be living under this roof, she’ll have to follow my rules!” Vernon interrupts, looking triumphant. “We’re the only family she’s got left.” Sirius cocks his head, an idea springing to life.

“Right,” he says, mostly to himself. “Actually, you’re not the only family she’s got.”

“What?” Petunia asks. “My parents have passed, and so have Potter’s.”

“Right, well, there’s always me,” Sirius says, smiling perhaps the first genuine smile he’s smiled in years. “I am her godfather.”

Harri, who’d been in the process of leaving the kitchen, whirls around, shocked.

“Godfather?” she exclaims. “You’re here to get me!”

“Er.” Sirius find his will power crumbling, fuck she looks just like James, bright and excited, and so happy with him. Some buried part of Sirius resurfaces, the part that aches to be liked, to be needed. “I suppose.”

“She can’t go,” Petunia says quietly. “That headmaster explained it to me, about the wards, about Li—my sister’s sacrifice.”

“I can keep her safe,” Sirius decides. He’s not too sure what Petunia means, she must be confused. Vernon and Petunia exchange a look, and Harri bounces on her toes, eager.

“Well,” Vernon decides, breaking the tentative silence. “If you’re her godfather, there’s nothing stopping you, is there?” He looks gleeful, in a terrible sort of way.

“Right,” Sirius says, trying to bolster himself. “Right! Harri, go and get your things.” She doesn’t need to be told twice, scampering back to the cupboard. The other boy, Dudley, looks at him with wide eyes.

“Is she really leaving?” the boy asks, tugging on his mum’s skirt. Petunia looks gob smacked, blinking rapidly and pursing her lips, but Vernon nods eagerly.

“She’s going to live with her own kind now,” he says haughtily. “Better this way, really.”

“Damn right,” Sirius growls, anxieties forgotten in the face of his anger. A minute later, Harri skips back in, a small rucksack hanging from her boney shoulders.

“Ready,” she says, beaming up at Sirius.

“That’s all you want to take?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Harri shrugs.

“It’s all I have,” she says bluntly. With that, she turns to the Dursley’s. “Goodbye. We’ll write.”

“Yes,” Petunia says, deliberating. “Well… try to keep your hair tidy.”

“Go on!” Vernon says enthusiastically, all but shoving Sirius and Harri out the door. “Can’t waste the daylight hours!”

The door slams shut and the two of them simply stand there a second, stunned. Sirius feels good, in a strange sort of way, like taking off layers in a dry heat.

“I’ll take your bag,” he says, holding his hand out. Harri hesitates but passes the rucky over. It’s surprisingly heavy for its size, Sirius notes as he slings it over a shoulder. The sun blazes brightly and as they’re making their way out of the neighborhood, Sirius realizes how colossally underprepared he is. He’s not a parent—hell, he wasn’t even a good older brother. He doesn’t even know what children eat.

“Do you like chips?” he asks abruptly. He has a few bills of muggle money stuffed in one pocket, but he has no idea if it’ll be enough to buy them a lunch.

“Yeah,” Harri says. “Where are we going to go now? Where do you live?”

Right, they’ll need somewhere to lay low, somewhere Sirius can think and plan out their next move. Maybe he can take her far away, where no one’s even heard of them.

“Er, let’s just get something to eat first, yeah?” he says. There’s a chippy on the corner of the street, looking comfortably deserted. They duck in, and Harri chooses a corner table, dropping onto the vinyl seat. Sirius sets her bag by his chair.

“What would you like?” he asks, pulling out the bills.

“They do a good kebab here,” she says hopefully, eyes wide. “Are really yum chips.”

“Right,” he mutter, holding up some of the bills. “Will this be enough, do you reckon?”

“20 quid!” she exclaims softly. “You could buy so much with that!” Sirius laughs pocketing the rest and heading up to the counter.

“Er, hiya,” he says, catching the attention of the haggard looking chef. She ambles over, banging on the register. Sirius doesn’t have too much experience in muggle shops, but Lily had taken them out a few times. Honestly, it wasn’t too different than normal.

“What’ll you have?” she asks, voice monotonous.

“Er, two kebabs, two orders of chips, and two teas, please.” The woman nods, jotting it down in near unrecognizable handwriting.

“£10.50,” she says. Sirius hands her the bill and she hands him a smaller one, as well as a bunch of coins. “Be out in a mo.”

Sirius takes a seat, and for a second, he can’t think of a single thing to say to her. He’s been gone for six years of her life, and now suddenly, they’re together again.

“Where were you? Before, I mean. Why did you only come to get me now?” Harri asks, seemingly reading his mind. Sirius flounders, because he doesn’t want to lie to her, but he doesn’t want to scare her. How much should a seven-year-old know anyways? Thankfully, he’s saved from conversation because they’re food comes out.

Harri waits patiently, hands folded in front of her, eyeing the food. Sirius quirks an eyebrow; is he supposed to do something to it?

“Go on,” Sirius says, pushing one of the kebab plates towards her and taking the other for himself. He pours out some tomato sauce and takes a bite, gesturing for Harri to do the same.

“This whole plate is for me?” she asks wondrously. Sirius forces himself not to think of the implication and nods, slapping on a smile. She doesn’t need to be told twice and digs in with gusto, eating happily. Soon enough, her fingers and mouth are smeared with grease, but she looks quite pleased.

Sirius leans over the table, napkin in hand, to mop up some of the grease. Harri squirms a little, scrunching up her little face—fuck, she looks like James when she does that—but complies, letting him clean her up.

“Where are we going to go now?” she asks, hopping down from her seat. Sirius nabs the rucky and stands, stretching out his limbs. The food had been surprisingly good, but Sirius chocks that up to it being his first human meal in weeks.

“We’ll have to find somewhere safe,” he says, leading her out of the shop. Sirius wracks his brain, trying to think of a single person he can trust, who, in turn, might trust him. Suddenly, it occurs to him. The one person in the world they can trust.

Moony. They have to find Remus Lupin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, get ready for the wolfstar reunion! Let me know what you thought!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus Lupin is fine. He’s currently working a job in muggle bookshop, and it’s fine. It’s quiet and he gets on well with the owner, an older woman called Dot. He’s had the same flat he’s had for the past six years and it’s fine. The rent is still the same and it’s cozy, in a cramped sort of way. He goes to the same pub he’s gone to every Wednesday night—save for the full moons—for his weekly supper out and it’s fine. He doesn’t really talk to many people but that’s fine too.   
> Really, he’s fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! So, I’m playing with perspectives a little, so please let me know how it works out. Hope you enjoy!

Remus Lupin is fine. He’s currently working a job in muggle bookshop, and it’s fine. It’s quiet and he gets on well with the owner, an older woman called Dot. He’s had the same flat he’s had for the past six years and it’s fine. The rent is still the same and it’s cozy, in a cramped sort of way. He goes to the same pub he’s gone to every Wednesday night—save for the full moons—for his weekly supper out and it’s fine. He doesn’t really talk to many people but that’s fine too.

Really, he’s fine.

Honest.

It’s the day after a particularly uncomfortably full moon and every part of his body aches. Remus balances a stack of books on one arm, shelving them with the other.

“Mr. Lupin!” Dot calls as the bell on the door chimes. “I need assistance.” Remus sighs, setting the stack down. He stretches carefully, trying to ease the strain in his shoulders. “Hurry! There’s a great big animal in front of the store!”

“What?” he mutters, hurrying over. Dot’s cowering behind the counter, pointing to the glass door. “What?” he repeats.

“There was this great big beast!” she gasps. “Just there! I don’t know where it’s gone.”

“What sort of beast?” Remus asks carefully. He still feels particularly wolf-like, all of his senses buzzing. There’s something here, something big and familiar, but he doesn’t think it’s dangerous.

“It was big and black,” Dot stutters out. “Maybe a dog or a bear!”

“A bear in London?” Remus asks, trying desperately not to smile. Just a dog then. Dot’s terrified of them. He can’t imagine what she’s do it she found out about Remus.

“Well,” she sniffs. “Obviously not. A dog, I meant. A big, horrible dog. Won’t you go see that it’s gone, please?”

Remus sighs, nodding. He guides Dot into her office in the back, settling her in her desk chair. Merlin, he doesn’t need this, not today. All he wants to do is find a quiet spot and a decent book, hide from customers.

“Why don’t you have a rest, Dot?” he says. “I’ll make you a cuppa, alright?”

“I did have a rather difficult night,” Dot says. “Tedious in the extreme.”

“Poor dear,” Remus says as sympathetically as he can manage. He keeps his back to her while he starts the kettle, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, remember, darling, I can’t have any milk or sugar in it,” Dot says, completely at ease now. “Trying to lose a few.”

“Whatever for?” Remus asks, unable to help the bit of charm that slips into his voice. Dot giggles, patting his cheek.

“Naughty boy,” she says. “Oh, leave the dog. I’m sure it’s gone.” Remus doesn’t bother to hide his grin.

“Well, I’ll get back to the shelving then, Dot,” he says. “Just try and relax.”

“Thank you, pet,” she says. “What would I do without you?”

“Let’s try not to find out,” Remus calls, making his way back to his spot. He finishes the remnants of the shelving and plucks something from the historical fiction section and settling in the warm spot by the window.

Remus can’t focus on the book, though, his mind far away. He’s thinking of Hogwarts, of his old friends, things he hasn’t thought about in years.

His throat works, and no matter how hard he tries to push away the thoughts, they won’t leave him. He remembers playful pranks, the way he’d talk their way out of trouble. He’s always had a rather non-threatening face, and people just couldn’t believe he could possibly be the culprit behind anything. He’d learned to expand, talk James and Sirius innocent for their many, many infringements.

Sirius—

No. He won’t think of him. He doesn’t deserve to be thought of.

Remus slams the book shut and sighs, looking at the old clock hanging nearly sideways on the far wall. Only a few more hours left. He can do this.

Finally, seven rolls around and Remus sends Dot on her way, promising he’ll lock up for her, he’s just got a few bits and bobs to sort out. He picks his way through the store, straightening the books and finishing off the last of the shelving.

The moon is high in the sky by the time he finishes, just barely waning. He glares at it, feeling considerably more angry than he has in months. What for, he couldn’t tell you. It is Wednesday, and he is due into the pub for his supper, but Remus really can’t muster the energy to go in. Besides, there looks to be a hen night on when he passes it.

He makes his way to his apartment, shoving open the door with more force than strictly necessary, and dumping his things in a pile by the coat rack. Merlin, he’s exhausted. Stretching and yawning, Remus stumbles into the kitchen, intent on making some tea. A nice cup of tea will make things better, he thinks.

Technically, he does live in muggle London, so he’s not too keen on using magic, but he really can’t be arsed to turn on the hob, so he points his wand at it, grinning as it ignites. Since he’s already got it out, he fills the kettle with a quick charm and sends it on its way to boil.

Finally, he thinks, dropping heavily onto the ancient futon. His muscles ache at the way he slumps so he squirms, trying to find a comfortable position. As soon as he does, the doorbell chimes. Of fucking course.

Remus grumbles as he pulls himself up, but before he can get the door, he stops, every instinct screaming. It’s that same presence, he realizes, from the store earlier. His heart begins to race and his breaths come in shallow pants. Gingerly, he opens the door.

Sirius Black is standing in his doorway.

Suddenly, he’s seventeen years old again, a foolish boy who thought he was invincible, surrounded by the people he loved best in the world. A stupid teenager with a heart threatening to overflow, aching both in the best and worst ways, so terribly in love that it burns.

_Sirius. Padfoot._

Sirius Black is standing in his doorway, and it looks like he’s not alone.

\---

Harri was immediately convinced Padfoot was the very best person in the whole world. He spoke kindly to her, made her laugh, and bought a whole plate of kebabs and chips for her. After eating, he’d told her they were off to find another friend of her father’s.

Harri had spent ages imagining her father and mother, pretending the crash wasn’t real and that one day, they were going to come roaring up Privet Drive to get her. She didn’t know why, but she’d always imagined they’d drive up on a motorbike. She dreamt of it often.

Now, she had her father’s friends! The real people meant to take care of her. Maybe they’d live in a nice house with a big garden, and Padfoot could show her how to do magic. He could turn into a dog, and Harri thought she’d very much like to learn.

As a dog, Padfoot lead Harri all through London. She’d been once before, but she was a bit nervous. Still, she resolved not to let Padfoot think she was scared. He might look at her and decide she was too much of a baby for their adventures and send her packing off to the Dursley’s again.

They’d ended up walking up and down the same street for hours, passing the same few bookshops and cafes. Harri didn’t mind. She chattered away to Padfoot, telling him all about school, the games she’d play, and the strange people she’d see sometimes, wearing weird dresses and smiling widely at her.

Padfoot the dog was actually lovely, and not a bit scary. His eyes were the prettiest grey color she’d ever seen, and she could just tell he was listening. He was also nice to pet, though his fur was a bit scraggly. It didn’t matter to her; her own hair was a mess, hanging in a curly sheet to her back.

Finally, when it got a bit darker, Padfoot and Harri followed a man from one of the bookshops. He didn’t notice them at all, but Harri thought he might be the friend Padfoot had mentioned. He looked sad, but Harri thought a visit from his friends might cheer him up. She would’ve loved that.

Once the man had gone inside, Padfoot the dog had become Padfoot the person again, and he crouched down to grip Harri’s shoulders.

“Listen, love, just let me do the talking, alright?” Padfoot says. Harri nods, suddenly nervous.

“I thought he was dad’s friend,” she whispers. “Won’t he know about me?”

“Of course he does, it just that… well, he might not like me very much,” Padfoot mutters, looking away.

“Why?” she asks, tilting her head. Padfoot opens his mouth, but snaps it shut and shakes his head.

“I’ll explain later,” he says. “Stay behind me.”

Suddenly, Harri’s scared and does what she’s told. The man hadn’t looked scary before, but Padfoot sounded worried. She clutches his trouser leg, peeking around him. Padfoot rings the buzzer, and for a moment, they both hold their breath.

The door swings open and the man looks at them, the strangest expression on his face. He looks from Harri to Sirius in rapid succession, more and more upset.

“ _What. The. Fuck?”_ he hisses through clenched teeth. Harri shrinks against Padfoot, clutching hard.

“Moony, I need you to—”

“Do not call me that!”

“Remus, then—”

“Where did you come from? How did you get out?” Moony—Remus, Harri wasn’t sure—asks, still decidedly angry.

“Listen, it’s a long story, but you have to—”

“The only thing I have to do is call the aurors!” he explodes. “Why isn’t it in the papers? What did you do?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Padfoot snarls. “Let us in! I’ll explain it all, just trust me.” Stunned, Remus—maybe Moony?—steps aside to let them pass. Harri clings to Padfoot, deciding she doesn’t like this man, not one bit.

“Trust you?” he scoffs. “Fat chance.”

“Shut up for a mo, alright?” Padfoot says, gently detaching Harri from his trousers. “You’re scaring her.”

Suddenly, she’s angry. Who is this man to talk to Padfoot like that? She’s dealt with bullies before and she’s done with them.

“I’m not afraid!” she declares, stepping on the man’s foot as hard as she can. He stumbles back, swearing, but his mouth twitches. Padfoot lets out a bark of laughter, pulling Harri towards him.

“Harri, this is Moony, alright? He was one your dad’s best friends, remember?” She did, but he wasn’t acting like a friend at all! “He’s going to help us.”

“Quite a foot, you’ve got, young lady,” Moony says, arching an eyebrow at her. He reminds Harri a bit of a school teacher, and it melts her anger instantly. Heat rises to her cheeks and she ducks her head.

“I’m really sorry,” she says softly. Moony crouches down to look at her.

“It’s alright,” he says. His face goes a bit ashen, but he gives her a weak little smile.

“You look exactly like James,” he says softly. “But your eyes are all Lily. Perfect copy.” Harri gasps, savoring this new information like the last mouthful of her favorite dessert. Moony frowns, eyeing Padfoot.

“Harri,” he starts, hesitant. “I need you to be honest with me, alright? Did this man make you go with him? Did he take you from your aunt and uncle?”

“What?” Harri asks, decidedly confused. Maybe he doesn’t know. “My parents died in a car crash and Padfoot is my godfather. He’s a bit late, but he came to get me.”

“Car crash, what do—never mind. Harri, what exactly did he say to you?” Moony asks insistently.

“We went to back to the house and Aunt Petunia knew him. He really is my godfather,” Harri says earnestly. “And I told them I’d write.”

“Remus, let me explain everything, there’s a lot she doesn’t know,” Padfoot says softly. “She’s probably hungry and tired, if we could trouble you for something.”

Harri flushes, but her cheeks are too dark to betray her embarrassment.

“I’m okay,” she says. Moony gives Padfoot a hard glare, but sighs deeply.

“My top priority is Harri, do you understand? I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep her safe,” he practically snarls. Padfoot raises an eyebrow.

“Still a bit touchy from last night?” Remus clenches his fists and his jaw but doesn’t say anything. He turns to Harri, a concerned frown on his face.

“I don’t have too much, but I can make some toast. Is that alright?” he asks. “And tea, there’s tea, and I’ve got milk.”

“Yes, please,” Harri agrees eagerly. Moony’s lips twitch and Harri hurriedly tacks on, “If it’s not too much trouble. I can do it myself, so you don’t have to.”

“That’s why I had to take her!” Padfoot interjects. “You should’ve seen the way they were treating her, Remus—“

“Later!” Moony hisses. “And never mind the toast, I’ll do it. You just wash up. Bath’s just through there.”

Harri heads off to the door he pointed out, quickly scrubbing her hands. She can’t understand why Moony would think Padfoot might hurt her. They’ve had talks before during assembly, about strangers who could hurt children, but Padfoot is the only family she’s got left. He would never hurt her, she knows it. Best she can figure, Moony thinks he’s a bad person, but she can’t glean why. Maybe they had a fight, and now they’re not friends anymore. The thought makes her sad.

When she troops back into the kitchenette, Moony has a cup of milky tea and a few pieces of hot, buttered toast for her.

“Go on, tuck in,” Moony says, taking a few sips of his own tea. He hasn’t put any milk in it, though. He makes a face like he doesn’t like it but keeps drinking. “You can go to bed straight after, I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

Harri picks up a piece, but notices there’s not a place set for Padfoot. In fact, he’s still standing by the door, looking a bit sad.

“Do you want some?” she offers him. He shakes his head, but Harri’s glad for the way he smiles. She gobbles up the toast and gulps down the tea, not realizing just how hungry she was. Moony takes her dishes when she’s done and to her amazements, uses magic to get them washing themselves. Awestruck, she watches as the dishes scrub themselves.

“Come on, off to bed,” Moony says. He takes her to the single bedroom in the flat, settling her into the narrow bed.

“I’m going to keep you safe,” Moony whispers softly, brushing her hair back and pulling the blankets up. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you again.” Harri’s eyes are heavily, and the blankets are so cozy. She drifts off to bed easily. The last thing she hears is a dull thud before she falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang, let me know what you guys think about the pacing and how the chapter endings go. Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius knows this tentative peace will only last until Harri’s tucked up in bed, but as he watches Moony fry up some toast, every part of his body aches. His fists clench and unclench, throat blocking and unblocking like it doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, time for Sirius and Remus to work out some of their feelings. Remember people, this is a slow burn. Anyways, enjoy!!

Sirius knows this tentative peace will only last until Harri’s tucked up in bed, but as he watches Moony fry up some toast, every part of his body aches. His fists clench and unclench, throat blocking and unblocking like it doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Honestly, he’s surprised Moony didn’t kill him right then and there. He would’ve. Of course, that would’ve frightened the absolute shit out of Harri, and Moony was right, she does need to be their top priority right now. Sirius has failed James enough already.

“Once she’s done eating,” Moony says in a deadly whisper. “You’re going tell me exactly what you did, then I’m going to decide what punishment even comes close to making up for what you did.”

“Harri first, then—” he cuts off as the water cuts off, and Harri comes back into the room. She’s handling everything much better than he thought she might, the James in her coming out in full force. Sirius can’t believe she stamped on Moony’s foot, but it makes complete sense. James’ fatal flaw was loyalty; it only makes sense that it’s Harri’s as well.

Harri eats ravenously, and Sirius watches guiltily. He might be used to a meal a day, but small children are not. Even ones that have been treated as horribly as Harri has. A ghost of a smiles finds its way onto his face as she lights up over the smallest display of magic.

Moony settles her in for the night, casts a muffliato on the door, then rushes him full force. Padfoot’s instincts take over entirely, and suddenly they’re both struggling for dominance, but Moony’s still powerful from the full moon and Sirius is still weak, so he ends up sprawled on the ground, Moony’s wand held at a deadly angle against his throat.

“Explain before I kill you myself,” Remus snarls. Padfoot submits, a soft whine slipping past his teeth.

“I wasn’t the secret keeper,” Sirius gasps against the tight hand on his throat. “I made James change secret keepers last minute.”

“You’re lying,” Remus says, slamming Sirius against the floor with enough force to have him seeing stars. “The truth, now.”

“I swear on Harri,” he wheezes, which is apparently the wrong thing to say because Remus thrashes him soundly again.

“Don’t you dare say her name!”

“Moony,” Sirius gasps. “Please.”

Suddenly, the pressure’s gone and Remus is sitting a few feet away from him, breathing hard and clutching both his and Sirius’s wand. He feels naked without it, on edge, but he’s going to do whatever Moony needs to feel safe right now. It’s the absolute least he can do.

“What do you mean, you weren’t the secret keeper?” he asks after a particularly tense minute.

“It’s still my fault that James and Lily are dead, but I didn’t sell them out,” Sirius says. “Three weeks before Halloween, right when you went away to do whatever the fuck was so important—”

“Dumbledore gave me a job!”

“Listen! You left, and I… I got it in my head that the traitor might’ve been you,” Sirius admits. Shame courses heavily through him. “I convinced James it would be best if we changed secret keepers. He was pissed as shit, but he did it finally. Kept insisting it wasn’t you though.” This is important for Remus to know, for him to realize that the only person who should be punished was Sirius.

“Then who did you change it to?” Remus asks, grimacing like he’s waiting for Sirius to conform his worst fear.

“Peter,” he says. “Wormtail fucking sold him out like James was nothing to him, like he hadn’t spent nine years being his best mate.”

For a moment, both Sirius and Remus fume, so filled with anger that it threatens to overwhelm them. Shame, anger, and guilt pulse so clearly inside Sirius that it very nearly drowns out the crushing grief he carries. Nearly.

“Peter,” Remus chokes out. “I thought he was dead. I thought you killed him. I send cards to his mum every fucking year.”

“She’s got nothing to do with this,” Sirius says. “Of course, she didn’t know.”

“He… he framed you,” Remus says slowly. “You fought him and blew up a muggle street. You killed thirteen muggles and he cut off his finger—“

“I never killed anyone!” Sirius snaps, teeth bared. Padfoot urges him to strike, to show Moony who was boss, but Sirius forces that urge back. “We fought, but he blew up the street. He knew they’d blame me. We were unregistered, so it wasn’t like I could tell the aurors he was a rat.”

“Fuck,” Remus mumbles. He blinks rapidly and breaths hard, and some buried part of Sirius knows he’s about to cry, knows he should hurry over and wrap his arms around him, mumble stupid jokes in his ear until he smiles. But he doesn’t have any jokes, just anger that runs so deep that it threatens to cleave him in two.

“Fuck,” Sirius echoes. They both sit, trying to get ahold of himself. If Harri woke up now, they’d scare the shit out of her. Harri. He needs to focus on Harri. Slowly the anger recedes a little, enough for Sirius to breathe easily.

“Don’t suppose you could prove it to me, could you?” Remus says, toying with Sirius’s wand.

“Have any veritaserum?” Sirius asks, smiling wanly. Remus scoffs, pulling himself up. He offers Sirius a hand.

There was a moment, when Sirius was maybe fourteen or fifteen, where everything about Moony lit up every goddamn nerve he had. The strong set of his shoulders to the delicate skin of his throat. His hands were always so warm.

Now, Sirius quickly catalogues the feeling of Remus’s hand in his, taking note of the callouses, and most importantly, the chill.

“You’ve not been taking care of yourself,” Sirius says, reluctantly letting go of Remus’s hand. Remus scoffs again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Look who’s talking,” he quips. “Finally, the outside reflects the madness within.”

“You’d know all about the madness within, wouldn’t you?” The words are right, something they might’ve said to each other so long ago, but Sirius is not that boy anymore. He’s wrong and twisted, that inherently bad part of himself breaking free of its shell and taking hold of him, force him to suspect someone he loved of betrayal. 

Silently, Remus pour a cup of tea and slides it to Sirius, a thoughtful frown on his face. Without having to be told, he dumps a generous shot of firewhiskey in it. Sirius downs the little cup in one go, relishing the burn in his throat.

“In a few days, maybe tomorrow even, they’re going to announce you broke out of Azkaban, and when they realize Harri’s gone missing, all hell’s going to break loose.”

“I know,” Sirius mumbles. “I didn’t actually have a plan—“

“When have you ever?”

“I just knew I was innocent, and when they put that thing in the paper about Harri, I just…”

“I know,” Remus murmurs. “We’re fucked.”

“We?” Sirius won’t get his hopes up, he doesn’t deserve to.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Remus says simply, like that solves it.

“This will be the first place they check,” Sirius says miserably. “I’ve fucked it all up for you.”

“I think you’ll find I really don’t need help ruining my own life,” Remus says, sounding lightly amused. Sirius gives him a frantic look, heart beginning to race.

“They’ll arrest you,” he says, panic mounting. “You won’t last, Remus, I swear to you—“

“Shut up,” Remus tells him firmly. “I just need to think.”

“This isn’t some stupid prank you can talk our way out of!” Sirius barks, agitated. “Harri, oh fuck, they’ll send her straight back to Lily’s sister.”

“You said something before, about how they treated her,” Remus says. “What do you mean?”

“You remember how Lils and her sister felt about each other,” Sirius laughs derisively. “They were horrible, yelling at her, pinching her, starving her—“

“Starving her! What do you mean?”

“I mean just that! When I saw her, she was on punishment for trouble at school and she wasn’t to have any meals. I couldn’t leave her,” Sirius explains.

“She can’t go back,” Remus decides, hackles raised. “I’ll… write to Dumbledore and maybe—“

“And how will you explain Harri finding you in the first place? It’s not like she knew anything about us. She didn’t even know that magic existed until this morning.” Sirius toy with the teacup, trying to calm himself. He would not be going back to Azkaban, he wouldn’t survive it.

James—

He would not let James down again.

“We can’t do this ourselves,” Remus says, twisting his fingers around each other. “What about school?”

“We’ve got years until she has to be in school,” Sirius says. “We need to figure out where we can be without being found.”

“Sirius, muggles are very strict about school,” Remus tells him sharply. “Eventually, someone will notice she’s not in. At best we have a few weeks.”

“Petunia and her husband can deal with that,” he says just as sharply. The muggles will blame them and if they’re lucky, this won’t be traced back to them at all.

“What about Hogwarts? Even if we do hide out, we can’t run forever,” Remus counters.

“Fine! What the fuck do you suggest we do, then?” Sirius snarls.

“Just.. just let me figure it out,” he says, deflating a bit. Sirius swallows, guilt thick and cloying in his throat. “For now, we need rest. Let me have the futon, and Padfoot can sleep near the fire.”

Sirius doesn’t protest, turning and settling on the rug next to the fireplace. Remus lights it to a low flame, just enough to keep them warm throughout the night. Sirius decides to overlook the fact that he still hasn’t gotten his wand back.

\---

Remus can’t stop looking at him, at the both of them. Harri is so big, all of her soft baby fat melted away to sharp angles and skinny limbs. He barely gets a wink of sleep, alternating between pretending to read and checking that Harri’s still there.

The next morning, he’s decidedly miserable, stumbling into the kitchenette to make some coffee. The kettle’s on and he’s about to obliterate the beans into grounds before he realizes he’s still got Sirius’s wand.

They all used to trade wands all the time in school, swapping them for whole class periods just to see if they could, or if anyone would notice. Sirius’s wand had worked best for James, but it used to oblige him well enough. He’s about to try it before he realizes.

The trace.

One, Harri’s got the trace, and while adults doing magic around children won’t set it off, she definitely will if she gets ahold of either of their wands.

Two, prisoners have trace’s reactivated as well, and if they haven’t destroyed Sirius’s wand, there’s no way they can do magic on it without setting it off.

“Do you need some help?” Remus jumps at the voice, whirling around to find Harri standing in the doorway, positively shaking in her thin, oversized housedress. Her hair’s an absolute mess, and for a minute, she’s James, alive and whole and here to make things better. He blinks and she’s Harri again. He has to take care of her.

“Are you cold?” he asks, not bothering to wait for answer before he fetches one of his older jumpers and a pair of socks.

“Thank you,” she says, pulling them on hurriedly. The fire had died sometime last night and Remus just hadn’t been present enough to reignite it.

“Tea?” he asks her, already pulling a cup down.

“Can I do anything to help?” she asks politely. There’s something about her tone that strikes Remus as not quite right. It’s almost like she’s afraid. Then again, there are quite a few things for her to be afraid of.

“That’s alright,” he says. “Toast again? I’m afraid I really don’t have much else. The shopping sort of… slipped my mind.”

“That’s alright,” Harri says agreeably. “I love toast and you make it really good.”

“That’s how your mum used to eat it,” he says, thinking back to the little house in Godric’s Hollow. “She’d fry it up in butter like that.”

“Were you really friends with mum and dad?” Harri asks, taking a sip of her tea. Remus hopes it milky enough because he’s really not too sure if little children are supposed to have tea.

“We went to school together,” Remus says, sitting next to her with his coffee. “At Hogwarts.”

“The magic school?” Harri asks. He nods, unable to help but smile at her. “What will I have to do to get a place there? I can’t do any magic.”

“You’ve already got a place,” Remus assures her. “And as for the magic? You’d be surprised.”

“Morning,” Sirius croaks, shaking his head like a dog. “Sleep alright, Harri?”

“Fine, thanks,” she says. “Will they teach me how to turn into a dog at magic school?”

“Hogwarts,” Remus corrects absently. “Probably not. It’s very difficult and you have register with the ministry for it.”

“Can you do it too?” she asks, looking up at him with wide, awe-filled eyes. It’s very nearly painful to look at her but he can’t stop. He’s missed so much of her life.

“Not quite,” he says. “Listen, I have to get to work, but I’ll see if I can get off early. Just… sit tight.”

With that, Remus rushes through getting ready while Sirius digs through his pantry. Hopefully they’ll find something to tide them over until he can go shopping later tonight. Just as he’s about to leave, he finds Harri in front of his bookshelf, just looking.

“I wasn’t going to touch,” she says hurriedly when she notices him.

“It’s alright,” he assures her. “I don’t have many childrens’ books, but I have one or two you might enjoy. Maybe Sirius—er, Padfoot can help you with the words.”

“Really?” she asks excitedly. Remus grins, plucking out a muggle series that Lily had gifted him about ten years back.

“Maybe you’ll like it,” he says. “See you soon.”

“Bring back food!” Sirius reminds him.

“See you!” Harri calls as he heads out.

Thankfully, all he has to do is look a bit pitiful—which isn’t very difficult—and pout a bit for Dot to let him off, assuring she can manage without him. It definitely doesn’t hurt to smile charmingly at her. He could never quite manage as well as James or Sirius could with women, but considering his interests lie elsewhere, he has an excuse.

He fumbles through the shopping, tripping up as usual over the muggle money. Even after all these years, the mix of paper notes and coins throws him. It definitely doesn’t help that the coins all look alike. He races back home, arms laden, excited for once at the prospect of being in his little flat.

Harri and Sirius are cuddled under a blanket on the futon when he gets back, only a few chapters into the book.

“This is mad,” Sirius tells him matter-of-factly. “Talking griffins and centaurs that actually like people. Who wrote this?”

“Never mind that,” Remus says, setting some of the bag of shopping on the ground. Harri hops up without being told and helps put things away. “Typical, a seven-year-old is more helpful than you are.”

It’s so fucking uncomfortable between he and Sirius, and no amount of taking the mickey is going to help, but still, Remus tries, because it eases the abject desolation on Sirius’s face for a second. He can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like, trapped with the dementors for five years. He looks so old and withered, but the smiling helps, no matter how faint it is.

“I was thinking about the whole ‘ministry after me’ bit—“

“Who’s after you?” Harri asks, shoving a tin of biscuits into one of the cabinets.

“Er,” Sirius fumbles, looking at Remus desperately.

“The ministry is in charge of us,” he says. Harri nods, frowning thoughtfully. It’s strange to see such a Lily-esque on James’ face.

“The Council for Little Whinging?” she asks.

“Right. And they think Sirius was a criminal, so they chucked him in jail—“

“Oi!” Sirius interjects. Clearly, he hasn’t explained where he’s been for the past five years. She’s too smart, Remus thinks, to be lied to.

“Jail! What for?” she asks, biscuits entirely forgotten.

“Never you mind,” Sirius says brusque. “I’m innocent.”

“Why can’t we just tell the ministry that?” Harri asks.

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Sirius mutters. Instantly, Harri’s face crumples and she shrinks into herself. “Fuck, no that not what I meant—“

“Asking questions isn’t a bad thing, Harri,” Remus says gently, taking on of her tiny hands in his. “It’s a very good question. The thing is, they might not listen because they might think he’s lying. If they catch him, they’ll chuck him right back, so we need to make sure the ministry will really listen to us if they do catch us.”

“Sorry, pet,” Sirius says, coming to take Harri’s other hand. She shakes her head, tossing back the sheet of tangled curls.

“How do we make them listen?” she asks.

“Isn’t that the question,” Sirius sighs. “Dunno, Hazza, but if you’ve got an idea, I’d love to hear it.”

“Never mind that,” Remus says. “You and Harri can borrow a few of my things for now and go scrub up. You first, Harri.”

“Oh, alright,” she says obligingly. Remus hands a stack of old clothes and a towel and sends her off.

“She had a point, you know,” Remus says. Sirius nods, shutting his eyes. “How do we get the ministry to listen?”

“Aside from serving Wormtail on a silver platter, I’ve no idea,” Sirius says.

It goes like that for a few days, Remus sweet-talking Dot into letting him bunk off work, spending time with Harri and Sirius. Harri’s easy to love, full of spirit and a cheeky streak. She’s kind, playful, and damn intelligent. They’ve been working through the CS Lewis book every night and Harri’s quick to join in to read aloud, barely stumbling over words.

Being with Sirius again is like walking through a dream. There’s a fear in the back of Remus’s mind that none of this is real, and it definitely doesn’t feel real. It’s like they’re playing at being students again, actors cast in the roles of Sirius and Remus. Believable on the outside, but ultimately false. Remus just doesn’t know how to make it go back to normal again, or if normal is something they’ll never get again.

On the tenth day of them being there, Remus opens the Daily Prophet to find Sirius’s screaming face plastered on the front page. He hides it quickly so Harri won’t see, pretending like it’s all fine. Eventually, after she falls asleep after a not-so-nutritious supper of cheese toasties, he pulls it back out, wordlessly trusting it at Sirius.

His face drains of what little color it’s gained back and he stands there, barely breathing.

“We can’t stay here now,” Sirius chokes out. “They’ll check here first.”

“Where will you go?” Before Sirius can answer, an owl hoots outside the kitchen window and they both jump. Sirius sinks to his knees, breathing harshly. Remus hurries over, plucking the letter from the owl’s leg and filling a teacup with water for it to drink.

_Dear Remus,_

_I hope this letter find you well, and I’m sure by now you’ve heard about Sirius. I would like to speak with you about it, so please do write back at your earliest convenience. \_

_Best,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

The letter is decidedly vague, but Remus just knows that he knows. Fuck. This is it. They’re entirely fucked and if they’re both in prison, there’ll be no one to look after Harri, and he can’t just leave her, not again, not when she’s all he has left of—

“It’s Dumbledore,” Remus says, voice just beginning to shake.

“Does he know?” Sirius asks, voice muffled by his knees.

“Can’t say, but he wants to talk to me,” Remus says. “We can’t stay here.”

“No, you need to stay here,” Sirius says suddenly, face full of clarity. “Harri and I will go, and you can send word after Dumbledore’s finished with you.”

“Where will you go?” Remus asks anxiously, a heavy pit of dread swirling in his stomach.

“There’s only one place left,” Sirius says miserably. “Grimmauld Place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can’t stay in Remus’s little flat forever! Anyways, let me know what you guys thought?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wait till morning to talk to Harri, but Sirius can’t sleep the whole night, and neither can Padfoot. He switches back and forth, pacing as both dog and human until Remus hisses at him to stop. He ends up sitting outside Harri’s room as Padfoot, just listening to her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! We’re getting into the Grimmauld place shenanigans and then onto the actual plot. Enjoy!

They wait till morning to talk to Harri, but Sirius can’t sleep the whole night, and neither can Padfoot. He switches back and forth, pacing as both dog and human until Remus hisses at him to stop. He ends up sitting outside Harri’s room as Padfoot, just listening to her breath.

Eventually, Remus falls asleep, curled up tight on the couch. His limbs are too long for the couch, and from Padfoot’s vantage point his limbs are too thin. He wants to soothe him, ease the worry lines from his face, but there’s a part of Sirius that recoils at the idea. Padfoot thinks this notion is ridiculous, the separation of their pack. Of course, it’s difficult to mend a fractured pack when their alpha is gone.

The both of them are up before sunrise, giving up on the notion of sleep. Padfoot shifts back to Sirius, following Remus into the kitchen. He slumps onto one of the chairs, watching Remus make tea.

“We’ll have to go as soon as she’s up,’ Sirius says softly, his voice not much of a croak.

“How will you tell her?” Remus asks, pouring a few cups of tea.

“She’s too smart to lie to,” Sirius sighs. “I’ll just explain it to her.”

Not before long, Harri trudges into the kitchenette, huddled in one of Remus’s baggy sweatshirts and his socks. She smiles sleepily at the pair, taking her customary seat next to Sirius.

“Morning, pet,” Sirius says, smoothing back her mane of hair, but there’s no point in trying to tidy the infamous Potter hair.

“Morning,” she mumbles, taking a few sips of her tea. She greets Remus too, hopping up to hug him as she fishes out the biscuits.

“Listen, Harri,” Remus says, sitting on her other side. “You and Padfoot are going to a new place today.”

Harri’s brow furrows as she frowns thoughtfully.

“They’re coming for us, aren’t they,” she says, sounding years older than she is. “Why aren’t you coming with us too?”

“It’s best if we just lay low for a bit,” Sirius explains. “There’s a place we can go to, and when things sort of blow over, Moony can come with us if he likes.”

Harri nods, staring into her teacup. She swirls it around, drowning a biscuit in her tea.

“Have we done something wrong?” she asks softly.

“No, we haven’t,” Sirius says resolutely. “They just think we have, but once we sort it out, it’ll get better.”

“How will you sort it?” she asks, digging out her sodden biscuit and gobbling it down. Remus sighs, petting back her hair.

“Dunno yet, but we’ll sort it,” Remus assures her. Harri looks up at Sirius suddenly, eyes absolutely blazing. He’s forcibly reminded that she’s James daughter, through and through.

“I’ll protect you,” she says sharply. “No one will chuck you in jail.”

“Thanks, Hazza,” he mumbles, ducking his head. He’s thinking of James, and that night he showed up at the Potter’s soaked the bone and bruised to high hell. James had gathered him up so gently, his grip firm, whispering that he would kill Orion himself with his bare hands if he so much as looked at Sirius again.

“Best to leave as soon as possible,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’ll disguise you—”

“You can’t!” Moony interjects. “The trace, Sirius, it’ll still be on you, and your wand.”

“The tra—” Sirius can’t breathe, suddenly. He hadn’t thought—fuck, he hadn’t thought at all. Remus and Harri are both saying something, he knows, but he can’t make it out, everything’s gone fuzzy—

“Sirius!” Remus says sharply, grabbing his shoulders to steady him. There was a moment, Sirius remembers, when he was a third year, when Regulus had been sorted into Slytherin and Sirius had panicked, gasping out that he’d lost his family, that there was no one else, when Remus had suddenly stepped into his space, grabbing his shoulders and holding tight, grounding him.

“I forgot about that,” he says weakly. Harri’s watching him, worry etched into her little face.

“What’s that?” she asks, reaching for Sirius’s hand. He takes it gladly, a lump lodging in his throat at the gesture.

“It’s a way for the ministry to monitor magical children,” Remus explains. “To make sure they don’t use magic outside of school.”

“Why not?” Harri asks, tilting her head.

“So, no one gets hurt,” Sirius interjects. “Any way around it, Moo—Remus?”

“Not that I knew, but I dunno, I can look into it, I suppose,” he muses, ignoring Sirius’s slip-up. “Might be a bit sus, though.”

“Never mind then,” he sighs. “I don’t mind playing muggle for a while.”

\--

Harri stands carefully still while Moony transforms her hair pin straight and short, her eyes dark brown. He changes her nose and her smile, too. Harri marvels at herself in the mirror, astonished at her appearance.

“When can I get a wand?” she asks as Moony tuck her hair under a cap. He chuckles softly, smoothing her sweater. He’d gotten a few clothes for her, a few pairs of leggings and a dress. She loves them, and she’s said thank you a million times, but she loves his sweaters the best, even if she has to roll the sleeves almost all the way.

“Not for a while,” he says. “When you’re older.”

“How old?” she presses.

“I got mine when I was eleven,” he says, guiding her out of the bathroom. In the living room, Sirius is packing her rucksack with the other clothes, as well as a few snacks.

“That’s so far,” Harri says, put out. She won’t be seven for weeks, and even then, eleven is years away.

“You’ll survive,” he says, amused. He helps her into an older jean jacket of his, and while it might be too hot for early July, Harri doesn’t mind it. Padfoot turns into Padfoot the dog and Harri follows him out.

Moony gathers her into a tight hug, squeezing just as tight as she does.

“When are you going to come see us?” she asks. Moony swallows, ducking away.

“Dunno,” he says, and Harri swallows hard. “As soon as it’s safe, alright? Take care of Padfoot for me, alright?”

“I will,” she says. “I promise.” Moony’s smile goes sad and suddenly Harri’s worried.

“Who’ll look after you?” she asks urgently. “You’ll be alone.” Padfoot nudges her hand, reminding her to hurry.

“I’ll be alright,” he says, voice thick. “Stay safe.”

Padfoot takes her sleeve between his teeth, tugging her along. Harri follows, throat working. She’s not a little girl anymore, and she must be strong, she promised to take care of Padfoot. Still, she can’t help but sniffle a bit.

They walk for a while, taking alley ways and side streets until Harri’s feet begin to ache. She keeps quiet until suddenly they stop. They’re in between a park and a row of tall, narrow houses, all connected. Padfoot trots into the bushes and becomes Padfoot-the-person again.

“Alright, Hazza?”

“Yeah,” she says, looking around. The building is nice, but dark, though Harri can see a few weak lights shining out from a couple windows. “Where are we?”

“Muggle London,” Padfoot says, scoffing. “Dear old dad figured no one would find us here.”

“Your parents live here?” she asks hesitantly. Padfoot scowls and instantly, Harri knows they’re bad. His face is strange, almost scary. This is probably what Moony meant when he said to take care of Padfoot.

“My parents are dead,” he says baldly. “My dad died two years after we graduated—er, after I graduated. My mum died a few years after.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, slipping her hand into his. Padfoot softens, smiling tiredly before hauling her up onto his hip.

“Nothing to worry about now,” he says soothingly, grip tight. “Can you see that building? The darker one? Number 12.” Harri squints, then shakes her head.

“Number 12, Grimmauld Place,” Padfoot says, and suddenly, Harri can see it. She blinks in surprise, stunned at the way the dark, crumbling house had suddenly appeared. It looks worse than the other and suddenly, she’s nervous.

“There?” she asks, pointing. Padfoot nods grimly, walking over.

“Let’s hope this works,” he mutters, setting Harri down on the stoop. Padfoot pulls out a switchblade, dragging it over his palm with hiss. Harri looks away as he smears the blood over the doorknob, and to her surprise the door swings open. Padfoot grins, stepping hesitantly inside.

“Just stay there for a mo’, Hazza,” he says. “I’ll let you know if it’s safe to come in.”

Harri shifts her weight from foot to foot anxiously, waiting for Padfoot. There’s a muffled thump, a bitten-off curse, then an ear-splitting shriek. Harri drops her rucksack and tears in, finding Padfoot sprawled on the ground, clutching his knee.

Harri gawks at the source of the screaming, which is a woman on the wall. Harri blinks, covering her ears. No, not a woman, but a painting. She’s stunned that the painting is moving.

“Scum!” she shrieks. “Defiler of my blood! Filthy criminal!”

“Shut up!” he roars back. Harri shrinks back against the wall, crouching and covering her ears. “Shut the fuck up, you hag!” She hides her face in her knees, blinking back sudden tears. Harri breathes hard, trying to be strong. The screams muffle and suddenly, there’s a hand on her shoulder. Harri looks up suddenly, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Oh, pet,” he sighs. “I’m sorry, that must’ve really scared you.” Embarrassed, Harri swipes at her tears.

“I’m alright,” he says. “Just loud.”

“You don’t like loud, do you?” Harri shrugs, making her way back to retrieve her fallen rucksack.

“What was that?” she asks, ignoring his question. Padfoot scoffs, shaking his head.

“My mum,” he says. “What’s left of her miserable, shriveled soul.”

Harri doesn’t know what to do with that, so she makes her way back to Padfoot, slipping her hand in his as she surveys the place. It’s dusty and crumbling, dark and scaring looking. Padfoot squeezes her hand gently, leading her into the darkened parlor.

“Well,” he says, looking around with a grim smile. “At least this means Kreacher is dead.”

“Who?” Harri asks, taking a hesitant seat on the dusty sofa.

“Er, house elf,” Padfoot says, poking around. Harri wants to ask what that is, but he looks busy. “Right, there’ll be a little cleaning to do. Up for it?”

“I don’t mind,” she says hopping up out of her seat.

“Let’s go see if the water runs,” he says. Harri follows him up the stairs, staying in his footsteps like he told her to. The bathroom, like the house, is dank and scuzzy. The taps work though and there are towels—albeit moth-bitten. They soak the towels and bring them downstairs, running them over all the surfaces. Turns out, Padfoot really doesn’t much about cleaning, so Harri takes the lead.

While Padfoot wrestles with the windows, trying to pry them open, Harri scrubs at the floor. Something shifts in the corner of her eye and she frowns, crouching to peek under the sofa. There’s something small and dark moving under there, and before she can tell Padfoot, it lunges at here.

She screams, swatting at it. More of them come out, leaping at her, and thankfully, Padfoot pulls her away, batting those things away. She clings to him, glaring at the things. They’re little clumps of darkness, with gaping mouths.

“What is that?” she demands. Padfoot stomps on them hard, which sends the survivors scurrying back under the sofa.

“Bloody dust bunnies,” he mutters, setting Harri on top of the sofa. “Wish I could use my wand.”

“But if you do, the ministry will find us, right?” Harri says nervously. Padfoot scowls, shaking his head.

“I know, Pro—fuck, Hazza, I meant.” He flushes, kicking away one of the towels. “Could do with a bloody house elf right about now.”

“What is that?” she asks, braver now.

“Er, magizoologically speaking, they stem from goblins, but they’re domesticated.” Harri looks at him blankly and Padfoot barks out a laugh.

“Little creatures who do the housework,” he explains.

“Right,” Harri says. “You had one?”

“Nasty little fuc—er, thing,” he says. Harri quirks an eyebrow at the almost swear. “Alright, put your bloody eyebrows away. I can swear, just not you.”

Harri laughs, settling on the couch. She pokes at the cushion, then brings her hands down hard, letting the dust fly up.

“I dunno how to clean up a sofa,” she admits.

“Might have to just burn the thing,” he says. “I’ll go upstairs and look for some blankets. Might just have to have biscuits for dinner.”

Harri grins, thrilled at the news. Padfoot scoffs, shaking his head and chuckling as he heads up the stairs. Harri pokes around the living room, opening drawers or at least trying to. Many of them are locked, but Harri pries open one of them. Inside lies an ornate silver box, words Harri can’t read engraved in a pretty, curling script all along the edge of the box.

Carefully, she opens the box, gasping softly at the pretty jewels inside. There are trinkets of all colors, sparkling beautifully. She picks up a stunning silver ring, turning it over in her hands.

“The little brat has something it shouldn’t.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don’t know when Walburga and Orion died, but my headcanon is that Orion died first, just before Sirius got taken in, and Walburga died later, after the loss of her entire family hit her. Of course, I’m sure there’s canon, but clearly, I don’t fuck with canon. Let me know what you thought!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius knows something’s wrong a split second before Harri screams, and when she does, he’s already moving, bounding down the stairs. He barrels into the living room, fists up, only to find Harri and Kreacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! So, yes, a little late, but it is up! Time to get in to the Kreacher Problem, enjoy!

Sirius knows something’s wrong a split second before Harri screams, and when she does, he’s already moving, bounding down the stairs. He barrels into the living room, fists up, only to find Harri and Kreacher.

Fuck. So, the nasty little bootlicker was still alive.

“Alright?” he asks tightly, decidedly not looking at him. His fists are balled at his side and something dark and twisted inside him urges him to take a swing, to knock the tiny motherfucker to the ground and pound his horrid little face—

“Yeah, sorry, just startled,” she says. She turns to Kreacher, an apologetic look on her face. It’s then that Sirius notice’s that Kreacher’s got his mother’s jewelry box clutched in his gnarled hands. “I’m really sorry about your box. I was just looking.”

“Isn’t mine, nasty little half-blood,” Kreacher croaks. “It’s my mistress’s. My poor, poor mistress who would wither away at the thought of filthy hands on her most precious—”

“Your poor, poor mistress is long dead,” Sirius tells him savagely, only to see the way his face scrunches up in anguish.

“Poor mistress lived just long enough to see her blood soured,” Kreacher says reproachfully. “You are a filthy little criminal, besmirching the house where you were raised. No respect from the brat.”

“If I could send you packing, I would,” Sirius tells him darkly. The threat of his freedom shuts him up, thank Merlin. Sirius contemplates it briefly, but there’s no way that Kreacher will keep their secret. Best thing to do is to keep him, Sirius realizes dejectedly.

“Is this the house elf?” Harri asks with a frown.

“This is Kreacher, last protector of the most noble house of Black,” Sirius sneers mockingly. “Look how he’s let the house fall into to ruin. What would dear old mum say about it?”

“The traitor speaks of his mother. The blood and womb he betrayed?” Kreacher asks, though it’s mostly to himself. Sirius scowls.

“Go make yourself useful, you nasty twat,” he says. “This house is disgusting.” With that, Kreacher ambles off, glaring darkly at the two of them.

“You weren’t very nice to him,” Harri says, surprising him. She’s got her arms crossed and a deep frown on her face, and for a second, she wavers between Harri and James. Sirius swallows the lump edging its way up his throat.

“He’s not a very nice house elf.” Harri shakes her head unconvinced.

“He could be,” she insists. “He won’t be nice unless you’re nice first, but you’re just being mean.” Sirius balks at the embarrassment of being scolded by a not-yet-seven-year-old. James had been the same, the one and only time he’d been to Sirius’s house, prattling on about how he needed to be kinder to Kreacher. Neither of them knew what it was like, though, to be thrown over the coffee table and whipped until his skin bled, all while Kreacher stood watching in the corner, a nasty gleam in his eyes.

“Go wash up,” he says gruffly. “I’ll get us something to eat.”

When it’s just him in the parlor, Sirius takes a deep breath, forcing himself to control his temper. He won’t let it flare up in front of Harri. He is not his father.

He ventures into the kitchen trying to see if there’s anything salvageable in there. If Kreacher’s alive, he must be eating something. Scrounging through the cabinets yield only a half eaten loaf of moldy bread, old enough that the smell of it makes even him retch a little. Looks like they’ll have to subsist on biscuits until they can figure something else out.

“Will new master starve Kreacher?” That awful bullfrog croak startles him and he jumps, finding Kreacher slinking around doorway. “How will new master come up with ways to punish Kreacher, for he so likes to see me in pain?”

Sirius recoils, biting back a snarl. He is not his father, and he will not react like him. Orion would half backhanded Kreacher across the room by now. Despite his pride at his blood status, he’d always favored the muggle way of ‘discipline’.

“You’ll shut up and do as you’re told,” he says sharply. “And you’ll treat Harri with respect.”

“The brat?” Kreacher exclaims. “The half-blood filth that besmirches the—”

“Shut. Up,” he says through gritted teeth. “I forbid you from talking about anyone’s blood status!”

Kreacher makes a horrible noise in the back of his throat, tears streaming in his big, milky eyes. He glares at Sirius, pointed shutting his mouth with an audible click.

“Clean up the kitchen,” Sirius says, walking briskly out of it. Old memories he hasn’t thought about in nearly a decade surface up, swirling around his mind tauntingly.

He finds Harri in the hall, investigating the awful umbrella stand. It’s too big, nearly blocking the narrow hallway, but Orion was too proud of it to get rid of it. Apparently, Sirius’s great-grandfather had made it himself, from the leg of a troll he’d hunted and killed.

“I’d leave it if I was you,” he says. “The thing reeks and it stays in your hair and clothes.”

Immediately, Harri jumps back, embarrassment tinting her dark cheeks rosy. Sirius takes her hand to lead her back to the parlor. He imagines it embarrasses her a bit, to be led like a child, but it’s grounding. Sirius can breathe easier if all he has to do is focus on taking care of her.

“I’m sorry that I called you mean,” she says softly, sitting on of the decorative poofs. “I didn’t mean it.”

“S’alright,” he says. “Kreacher’s always tried my temper.”

“Sometimes I get really upset, too,” she says. “Bad things happen, and people get hurt.”

“What do you mean?” Harri only shrugs, clearly not wanting to talk about it further. Kreacher chooses then to amble in, giving a sweeping bow.

“Kreacher hopes the kitchen is to Master’s liking,” he croaks.

“Thank you for cleaning, Kreacher,” Harri says. He pulls up abruptly, shocked. He turns sharply on his heel and strides out. Sirius can’t remember if anyone had ever thanked Kreacher for anything in his life.

“Is he angry?” Harri asks, confusion etched on her little face.

“Don’t mind him,” Sirius tells her. “Let’s go see if the kitchen is actually clean.” It occurs to Sirius then, as they’re inspecting a surprisingly clean kitchen, that Regulus had done that. He’d said please and thank you to Kreacher always, even when their father had beat him for it. He swallows back the pain of thinking of his brother, fetching Harri’s rucksack.

They treat themselves to a dinner of biscuits, and to both Sirius’s and Kreacher’s surprise. Harri lays a few out on a saucer to bring to house elf. He snatches it from her hands, retreating to slink down in his hidey-hole of preference.

That night, Sirius stokes up a fire, which releases a barrage of insects. Harri and Sirius stomp them out or sweep them away, dumping as many of them out the window. She’s not squeamish, but she doesn’t like being surprised. After making sure the parlor is insect-free, they settle down for the night in a pile of old blankets Sirius salvaged from an airing cupboard. He turns into Padfoot and Harri curls against his side.

The next morning, Sirius wakes alone, freezing and human. He ambles to kitchen, where to his utter astonishment, Kreacher is pouring tea for Harri. She tries to help him, but he smacks her hands away, telling the “nasty brat to watch it’s dirty fingers.”

“What’s all this?” he asks, taking a cautious seat. Unsurprisingly, Kreacher does not serve him tea, instead slinking away and muttering darkly to himself.

“I found Kreacher this morning doing magic!” Harri exclaims. “I asked him what sort of magic he could do, and he said anything.”

“House elves do whatever they’re ordered to,” he says automatically. “Where did you get the tea, Harri?”

“I asked Kreacher if he could make me look different and he did!” Indeed, her hair is slightly blonde around the bottom and her skin is lighter than he’s seen in. He watches as it goes darker and her eyes go from ice blue to bottle green.

“So, you went into town?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even. His heart hammers in his chest and wild scenarios run through his mind. He’s starting to feel a little faint actually.

“Well, Moony packed me some muggle money, so I thought I’d get a few things. It’s alright, I know how to run errands.” She eyes him carefully, and clearly, he’s not doing a good job of controlling his face because she shrinks back, looking rather small.

“Padfoot, have I done something wrong?”

“Listen very carefully,” he says, trying to quell his panic. She’s alright, she’s here, and they’re both safe. “You are never to leave this house without me, do you understand?”

“But—”

“Do you understand?!” He demands, leaping up out of his chair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If anyone sees her, if anyone understands who she is, she’ll be taken and he’ll never see her again. James—

Harri nods, face pinched up in fear. Instantly, Sirius rears back, ashamed of himself.

“I’m really sorry,” she says softly, head down. With that, she troops dejectedly out of the kitchen, wringing her hands. Sirius slumps back in his seat, taking a few deep breaths. That’s when he notices the packet of his favorite crisps on the counter.

Fuck.

\--

Harri knows she’s a foolish little girl. It was foolish to think she could live here with Padfoot and that Moony would come soon. It was foolish to ask Kreacher to show her magic. It was especially foolish to leave without asking Padfoot first.

She understands why he’s angry with her. If anyone catches them, they’ll take him away, chuck him in prison for something he didn’t do. She sniffles softly to herself as she packs. Surely, he’ll understand how foolish she really is, that Aunt Petunia was right when she said she was a horrid difficult child. Surely, he’ll send her back, so it’s safer for him.

Harri sits on the steps with her rucksack, waiting.

“Harri?” Padfoot makes his way over, a grim expression on his face. “Can I sit?” She nods and he takes a seat a few steps down from her.

“Are you going to send me away?” she asks dully.

“Is that why you’ve got your ruckie all packed?”

“I’m sorry I made it not safe for you,” she admits. She understands that she’s got to go back to the Dursley’s, as sad as it makes her, because she makes it too unsafe. Suddenly, she’s being swept into Padfoot’s arms, and he tucks her head under her chin.

“Harri, the most important thing in the world to me is you,” he says, his voice rumbling through his chest. “I only care that you’re safe, do you understand? That’s why I lost my rag. I didn’t mean to, but it’s fucking terrifying thinking of everything that could happen to you if you’re out there alone.”

“Are you still angry with me?” She asks. To her embarrassment, tears prick in her eyes, but she blinks them back. She is not a baby.

“Of course not, Hazza,” he promises, pulling away slightly. “We’re a team, yeah?” She nods eagerly, a smile finding it’s way to her face.

“I promise not to go out anymore,” she says. “Besides, I haven’t got any more money.” Padfoot bursts into laughter, shaking with it. After that, Harri and Padfoot put away the rest of the shopping. Harri had bought a few packets of biscuits, two sandwiches, tea, and a small jug of milk. Reluctantly, Kreacher cast a charm on one of the cabinets to keep it cool.

Padfoot takes her and Kreacher around the entirety of the house and they check the wards, which Padfoot explains are long sheets of magic that protect the house. Padfoot yells at him to fix them wards, but Harri asks nicely and he does, not before he calls her a brat. She rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t matter. Padfoot grumbles about how he listens to Harri and not him.

They spend the rest of the house cleaning, slowly excavating the rooms. Harri manages to find Padfoot’s old room, but he dives in there before she can, closing it whilst turning bright red. He promises to let her in once he’s done “redecorating”.

Finally, they collapse back in the parlor, in front of the fire. Harri gobbles down her sandwich hungrily. She’s exhausted, but she’s never been happier to clean. Padfoot is so funny, always making her laugh. He tells her all about her dad, about how they used to joke around at school.

When it’s bedtime, Harri curls against Padfoot-the-dog, pleased. She drifts off slowly, counting back her favorite days. This is definitely one of them, plus the day Padfoot found her, the day she, him, and Moony all sat around the fire eating cheese toasties and reading books. There’s another one, but she’s not sure if it’s really even real, one where she sits with her mum and dad, just talking to them.

The next morning, Harri wakes to a weird noise, like a tapping on the window. She pulls herself away from Padfoot-the-dog, who snuffles softly, still asleep. Harri gasps softly; there’s an owl at the window.

“Padfoot,” she whispers shaking one of his paws. “Padfoot, wake up!”

“What is all this noise?” Kreacher moans, shuffling into the room, a frown marring his face. “Owls at all times of the day, keeping the whole house awake. My poor mistress, restless…”

“Whazzgoinon?” Padfoot-the-human says, sleepily pulling himself up to his feet. He crosses over to the window, wrenching it open. Harri hurries over to the kitchen, filling a teacup with water and grabbing one of the remaining biscuits.

Harri lays it out for the owl, who gulps down the water. The owl gives a soft hoot, leaning against her hand. Padfoot extracts the letter from his foot, unfurling the parchment.

“What does it say?” she demands, tugging on sleeve. Padfoot snickers, ducking out of her grasp. She giggles, chasing him and barreling into him. Padfoot lets out an “oof”, buckling a little. He hefts Harri up on his lap and they read the letter together.

_Dear Harri and Padfoot,_

_Things alright here. HM left without saying too much. Very cryptic but does not suspect anything. Will be by as soon as possible. Sent some muggle money to keep you two afloat._

_Stay safe,_

_Moony_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, very complicated relationship between Kreacher and Sirius. Let me know what you thought and see you next week!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius reads the letter over a few times, rubbing his thumb along the words. Fuck, he misses Moony. He hands the letter over to Harri, letting her read it for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Hope you enjoy!

Sirius reads the letter over a few times, rubbing his thumb along the words. Fuck, he misses Moony. He hands the letter over to Harri, letting her read it for herself.

“Who’s HM?” she asks.

“Er, it means the headmaster,” he explains. A cryptic Dumbledore was never a safe Dumbledore. Sirius can’t count how many times he’d landed in detention after an enigmatic phrase and a twinkle of his eyes.

“Of the magic school?” she asks, cocking her head. “Of Hogwarts?”

“Harri, why don’t you see if there’s any paper and a quill, yeah?” he says, gently pushing her out of the kitchen. “We need to write Moony back.” Harri nods, heading off in search of paper. The owl hoots again, sticking its other foot out. Attached to it is a leather pouch. Sirius takes it, letting the contents spill over the table. He’s never understood why muggles use paper money as well as coins, but he counts it up, organizing it in neat stacks. In total, they’d been sent a hundred pounds.

This probably means Dumbledore was suspicious, and that Moony can’t feasibly move until there’s a new lead. Sirius drops his head in his arms, groaning. Either they wait until there’s been a “sighting” or Sirius will have to go out and create one for himself.

“I found some,” Harri announces, coming back into the kitchen with Kreacher in tow. He lumbers off to sit in the corner, mutter darkly. “Thank you, Kreacher.”

“Thanks, Hazza,” he mumbles, forcing himself to sit up. It was important not to startle her, lest she do a runner. Sirius knows he would’ve at her age. “What shall we write back?”

“Tell him we miss him,” she says, pushing a quill and inkpot towards him. “And thanks for the money. And that we hope he can come visit soon.”

Sirius scrawls down whatever she rattles off, passing the quill over for Harri to sign her name. She does it carefully, concentrating hard. Sirius smiles a little when he notices how similar her handwriting is to Lil’s.

Sirius takes the letter back to the owl, carefully typing the sheaf of parchment to its leg.

“Go on back where you came from,” he says.

“How does the owl know where he’s going?” Harri asks.

“Dunno,” Sirius admits, startled a little by the question. It was just one of those things that he’d just accepted without thinking too hard about. It’s a very Lily thing to do, to question every little thing. “Maybe they’re smarter than we give them credit for.”

“Maybe,” she says, clearly not pleased with the non-answer. Still, she doesn’t press him.

“Kreacher supposes the Brat and Master want their tea?” That awful croaking grates on his nerves, but before Sirius can snark off an answer, Harri beats him to it, thanking Kreacher and offering up her help. Kreacher’s leathery lip curls and he waves her off, muttering to himself about nosy brats.

Harri and Sirius help themselves to a breakfast of tea and biscuits, leaving the last packet for lunch. Eventually, he’ll have to go out to get them more supplies, but Sirius is fine with putting that off for a few hours.

To kill time, Harri and Sirius tackle the library. Sirius rolls his eyes at that awful tapestry, noticing the burn mark where his name used to be. Maybe it’s morbid curiosity, but something propels him to inspect the tapestry further.

Narcissa has a child now, a boy called Draco, about the same age as Harri. They’ll be in the same year at school. If the boy’s anything like his father, he’ll be entirely insufferable.

“Is this your family?” Harri asks. She’s inspecting the tapestry too, and Sirius can’t help but chuckle at the way she struggles to pronounce some of the more… eccentric names. 

“Did you know we’re related too?” Sirius says. “A relative of mine married your granddad’s younger brother.”

“Really?” Harri lights up at the idea, tracing the thin gold lines reverently. “Does everyone have one of these?” Sirius snorts, shaking his head.

“My family’s always taken pride in their so-called ‘pure’ lineage,” he explains. “Them, and a few other tossers, do this. Most people do keep geneology books though.”

“Is there a book for my family?” Harri asks. “Aunt Petunia says her parents died a long time ago and that she doesn’t speak with anyone else.”

“At your grandparent’s house,” he says wistfully. Cor, he misses that house. He misses the haphazard collections of books, mismatched furniture, walls crammed full of portraits. Mostly, he misses the Potters. Euphemia, who took him in without question and treated him better than he’d ever dreamed. Fleamont, who could always be counted on for a smile and a wink, just as mischievous as his son.

“Do you think we could go?” she asks, not quite meeting his eyes.

“I promise that as soon as it’s safe to, I’ll take you,” he says, resolutely. She grins at him, pleased. They peel themselves away from the tapestry, focusing on the task at hand. Harri tackles the dusting while Sirius culls the shelves, ridding them of the darker books.

His plan is to burn them, but Kreacher appears rather suddenly, shrieking at the ‘defilement’ of the library. Harri takes pity on him, forcing Sirius to give him to the lot. He scowls as Kreacher slinks away, toting the sack of books.

After, they polish off the rest of the biscuits and milk. Sirius parks Harri in one of the armchairs with _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_ and _Quidditch Through the Ages_. They might as well do something interesting while they’re stuck here, and it really doesn’t get more interesting than quidditch.

Sirius hunts around for Kreacher, finally finding him sobbing into one of his mother’s old robes, tucked away in the armoire in his parents’ room.

“Get out here,” he says, rapping on the door. Kreacher tumbles out, glaring up at him, tears and snot flowing freely.

“What does Master require?” he sneers.

“I need you to disguise me,” he says. “I need to go out and look unrecognizable.” Kreacher scowls, waving a limp hand in his direction. Sirius tries not to squirm as he’s transfigured. He looks into the grimy mirror, surprised. His hair is short and blonde, he’s much tanner, shorter, and filled out. His eyes, however, remain their own steely grey.

He makes his way downstairs, stopping in the kitchen to shove the money in his pockets, then pokes his head into the parlor. Harri starts when she sees him, dropping her book.

“Padfoot?” she asks, a touch nervous.

“Yeah, pet,” he affirms. “I have to go out, to do the shopping, but I’ll be back as soon as possible, alright? Just stay here, and if anyone comes by, take Kreacher and tell him to hide you until I come back, so no one can find you.”

“Alright,” she says. “Will you get more biscuits?”

“Don’t you think you ought to eat some fruits and vegetables?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. Harri blushes.

“Them too, I suppose,” she says. 

Sirius deliberates for a moment, then plucks his wand from his pocket. He’s been careful not to use magic at all, to have Kreacher cast any spell they need, but just in case Kreacher decides not to obey Harri, he presses into her hand.

“I don’t want you playing with it, alright?” he says sternly. Harri looks up at him, wide-eyed. “It’s only for life and death emergencies.”

“I understand,” she says softly. She grips the wand, and her expression changes, so Sirius is confident she’ll be able to wield it. Fuck, she looks like James.

He shakes his head, needing to focus, then heads out, pockets full of the muggle money.

\--

Dot has stopped believing his excuses.

Remus stalks through the bookshop, trying not to let his worry or annoyance get the best of him. The new moon is rising, and he’s already exhausted. That, and the residual stress from Dumbledore’s impromptu visit create for an interesting mood.

“Mr. Lupin?” Remus forces himself to take a deep breath before he faces Dot.

“Yes, Dot?” He stops short, blood draining from his face entirely. There’s a woman at the front of the shop, speaking to Dot. Not just any woman.

Minerva McGonagall.

“Mr. Lupin,” she says, voice as crisp as ever. He swallows hard, reminding himself that he is not a little boy anymore, and in all technicality, she can’t actually do anything to him. “I was hoping for a word.”

“Er…” He looks to Dot, who’s only eyeing Professor McGonagall’s robes. Thankfully, Dot gets the message and smiles waving them off.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” she says jovially. “We’re not dreadfully busy.” Professor McGonagall eyes the empty shop, one eyebrow arching.

“Professor, if you would follow me,” he mumbles. Remus tries to take deep breathes as inconspicuously as possible. He leads her to the back offices, offering her the armchair. “Can I make you a cup of tea?”

“No thank you,” she says curtly, looking around. Suddenly, Remus is shameful and deeply uncomfortable. He knows she could only be here to talk about Padfoot, but there’s a part of him that wants to assure her that this isn’t what he’s doing with his life, not really.

“Mr. Lupin,” she starts, eyeing him critically. “You’re aware of certain situations, I’m sure.”

“I know about Black,” he says, working to keep his voice and face impassive. Actually, he’s a brilliant liar. He always has been. It was his one true talent. He could talk the four of them out of almost any situation. He was the best liar of the lot.

Well.

He supposes in all actuality, Peter had been the best liar. He tries not to dwell on that.

“I know you’ve spoken to Headmaster Dumbledore,” she says. “But I’ve just come from—well, assessing certain situations, and I need to ask you again if you have any information about Black’s whereabouts.”

“I don’t, professor,” he says. She scrutinizes him, disbelieving.

“Very well,” she says. “Then, there’s another thing you ought to know before the Daily Prophet blares it all over their front page.”

“Professor?” They’ve caught him. They’ve caught him and they’re chucking him right back into Azkaban. He won’t last, Remus knows he won’t. He’ll go mad and then he’s have lost Sirius forever.

Harri.

Merlin, what will they do with Harri?

“Harri Potter is missing,” she says, eyes sharp and trained on his face.

“Missing?” He cocks his head, letting concern seep into his face. “Professor, I don’t understand—“

“Harri Potter,” she repeats, eyes narrowing just a touch, like a cat zeroing in on a mouse. “Is missing from her home. She was staying with her Aunt and Uncle, but when I went to check, there was no sign of her.”

“Surely, she’s there? She can’t have gone anywhere else, could she?” Panic is terribly easy to fake when it’s there inside you, and right now, Remus has a fair bit to play on. The good thing is she seems to have not spoken to Petunia or her husband, so she can’t know the truth. Still, Remus cannot rule out the possibility.

“Lupin, a child’s life is at risk,” she says. She thinks Sirius must’ve kidnapped her to do something dark and death eater-y, and frankly, the insinuation makes him angry. How many hours had Sirius spent in McGonagall’s office, doing everything he could to avoid turning into his father? How could she think he could betray James and Lily like that, put his own godchild on the chopping block?

(How could Remus believe it himself?)

“I’m sorry professor,” he says in the same concerned voice. “But please, tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.” McGonagall closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, sagging a little. Hot shame rushes through him for making her feel like that, but he holds his resolve. He has to.

“Right,” she says, clipped. “Thank you, Mr. Lupin.”

For the rest of the day, Remus runs through scenarios. The next plausible step would be to try and find the Black Family home, but it’s under so many wards, it’s nearly impossible to find without a Black to lead you.

As soon as the day finishes, he rushes to close the shop, nearly ejecting poor Dot from her own establishment. He barely listens when she chides him, locking the door and leaving her there on the doorstep, sprinting back to his flat like it’s on fire.

Once he’s inside, he lets himself breath, looking around for parchment and quills. There’s a tap on his window, and he whirls to find Hipolito, the owl he’d hired waiting outside. He nearly weeps at the sight, rushing to let him in.

“Bloody brilliant owl,” he mutters, filling a teacup with water. He plucks the reply off his foot while he drinks, unfurling it.

_Dear Moony,_

_We miss you very much. Thank you so much for the money and we hope you can visit very soon._

_Love,_

_Harri_

_P.S._

_Stay safe and send word. Will meet you at the old flat._

_-Sirius_

It’s not much, and it certainly doesn’t say anything about their safety. Groaning, he rips off a scrap from the letter and scrawls two words on it.

_Minnie Knows_

He ties it right back on, trying to gently nudge the owl back on his way. He looks at him reproachfully, decidedly unimpressed.

“Just one more trip,” he pleads. “I’ll even pay in advance. Just drop it off and you can go on your way.” The owl hoots his assent and Remus hurries to his room to unearth a galleon. Grimacing—really, post prices are becoming nearly unbearable—he tucks the galleon in the pouch and send him on his way, hoping against hope that Harri and Sirius are alright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, so a little tension! Let me know what you thought and see you next week!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of July passes in a haze of cleaning and reading with Harri. She can’t get enough of it, gobbling up volume after volume. Sirius loves it, settling after a real dinner—now that Kreacher’s actually cooking again, and fetching supplies for them—with her on the sofa, listening to her read out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just a timeline clarification: it’s been four weeks since Harri left the Dursley’s, and at the end of the chapter, it will be two weeks that she spent at Grimmauld place. Enjoy!

The rest of July passes in a haze of cleaning and reading with Harri. She can’t get enough of it, gobbling up volume after volume. Sirius loves it, settling after a real dinner—now that Kreacher’s actually cooking again, and fetching supplies for them—with her on the sofa, listening to her read out loud.

Her seventh birthday is coming up and he’d love to get her a present, but he thinks he’ll just have to settle for cake and see if he can dig up his stack of _Which Broomstick_. While they can’t order anything, it’ll make for a good read. She’d particularly taken to reading about quidditch.

Currently, they’re getting through Sirius’s copy of _Beetle and the Bard_ , and she loves it. So far, _Babbity Rabbity_ is her favorite. She’s in the middle of convincing Sirius to read it to her again when suddenly, the decrepit fireplace roars to life and both of them start. He holds his breath and clenches his fists, ready for whatever may come out of it.

To their surprise, Remus’s head pop out, and he sputters a little at the soot.

“Moony!” Harri cries. The book is abandoned as she runs over, plopping down in front of the fireplace. “How are you doing that?”

“It’s the floo network,” Sirius explains hurriedly. “Alright, Remus?”

“Yeah, fine,” he says.

“Does it hurt?” Harri asks. “The fire, I mean.”

“Not at all,” Remus says. “The floo network is—”

“Never mind that!” Sirius says hurriedly. “What’s going on?”

“Just checking in,” he says. “On the plan for Saturday.”

“Right,” Sirius mutters. He’ll have to leave Harri to go get Remus, which will definitely tip her off about the surprise. “Do you remember the old flat?”

When they’d all just gotten out of school, before Prongs had proposed to Lils, the four of them lived in this cramped little flat just outside the muggle entrance of Diagon Alley. It was a bit far from Grimmauld Place, but they couldn’t chance anything else. The less magic they used, the better.

“Yeah,” Remus says, a thin, sad smile pulling at his lips. “Around noonish.”

“What’s at noon? What old flat?” Harri interjects, tugging at Sirius’s sleeve. He winks down at her, not bothering to answer. She huffs in annoyance and Moony laughs.

“Alright, Harri?” he asks. At the questions, she perks up, regaling him with tales of their time at Grimmauld Place. She chatters on about how they’ve cleaned, how Sirius still won’t let her into his old bedroom—the only way to get rid of, ah, certain posters is to burn them entirely—and all the books they’ve read.

“You sound like a real quidditch expert!” Remus says, a real smile taking over his face. “Prongs would’ve loved to hear this.”

“That’s my dad, isn’t it?” she asks. They haven’t told her much about the Marauders, just that they were all mates, Peter died—no point in telling her the truth until she’s old enough to understand—and that they called James ‘Prongs’.

“That’s right,” Remus says. He clears his throat, looking a little sheepish. “Well, I have to be off. Early morning tomorrow. Stay safe.”

Harri and Sirius echo back the sentiment, watching Remus disappear and the flames die.

“What’s floo?” Sirius explains easily. One of his favorite things about her is her curiosity and her hunger for more. It’s such a Lily-esque trait.

They’re still camping out in the parlor, because one, Sirius can’t use magic to make his old room appropriate for a seven year old, and two, because he can’t bring himself to check out any of the other rooms, even the ones reserved for extended family and guests.

Still, the next day, he and Harri tackle some of the unused guest rooms. He can’t expect Remus to spend the night on the floor. They fix up a few on the third floor, one for each of them. Harri’s utterly gob smacked and thrilled to be getting a room to herself. Sirius forces himself not to think about the implications of that.

Saturday rolls around much quicker than either of them anticipated. Sirius makes himself wake earlier than Harri, which is a feat in and of itself, because she’s firmly a morning person. He trudges to the kitchen, where Kreacher is already lumbering around, making the tea. Sirius pours himself a cup, gulping it down despite the scorch.

“Harri’s birthday today,” he says once he has all of his mental facilities back. “You’ll need to make a cake.” Then, with gritted teeth. “Please.”

“Treat for the little brat,” Kreacher grumbles, but he’s already moving, ingredients floating lazily down.

“Brat likes treacle tart more than cakes,” he says. Sirius rolls his eyes, blushing a touch that he hadn’t thought of that. The warm smell of treacle fills the kitchen, making it almost seem homey. Kreacher begins cooking other things as well, chopping onions for French onion soup, letting a dough combine in midair to make fresh bread. “No doubt Brat will badger poor Kreacher all day long for treats.”

Before long, Harri makes her way downstairs, bleary eyed. She gives Sirius a sleep-sweet smile before climbing onto a chair. He waits, grinning, for her to realize what’s happened. Perhaps the smell hits her, or the soft clink of dishware as Kreacher sets the plate down for her with a soft mutter of “ungrateful Brat.”

“What’s going on?” she asks uncertainly, eyeing the treacle tart. There’s a single, worn candle sitting on top of it, wane candlelight flickering.

“I know it’s not much, but happy birthday, Hazza,” he says. Harri looks at the candle for a long moment, then up to him. To his horror, there are tears in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she manages to croak out. “I’ve never—I mean, thank you so much.” At once, she launches herself into his arms, clinging tight. A flurry of emotions run through him. Grief, anger, shame, but mostly, happiness. None of the other things matter anymore.

“Just wait till you see your surprise,” he says, perhaps a little gruff himself.

“There’s more?” she asks, astonished. Sirius winks at her.

“Blow out the candle.” Harri shuts her eyes tight, then blows. Sirius loops an arm around her, pressing a kiss into her hair.

They dig into the tart, and unsurprisingly, she puts most of it away. She’s always eaten like that, for the four weeks he’s none her, like every meal might be her last. She needs it too, as thin as she is. Any attempts to muck about always end in Harri jabbing her boney elbows into all his soft bits, accidental or not.

Since it’s her birthday, they kill a few hours perusing through the library. Harri calls out titles that interest her and Sirius tells her if they’re okay for her to read. Unfortunately, the Black Family Library is full of books on dark magic, so by lunchtime, Harri only has three books in her stack.

They’re treated to a lunch of French onion soup and fresh bread, and to Sirius’s great mortification, Harri invites Kreacher to sit with them. Of course, this starts up the moaning and groaning about his “poor mistress, what would she think?” She does not ask twice.

After, Sirius leaves her in the parlor with his wand and Hogwarts, A History. Hopefully, she won’t get frustrated with its lack of excitement and start wandering, something she’s prone to do. He’s found her a fair few times, lingering outside some of the older rooms further upstairs.

He shifts on the stoop, still hidden by the wards, then makes his way down. The fresh air is wonderful, and Padfoot has to resist the urge to chase the fat pigeons around the park. He makes his way through town easily, sticking close to the alleys where less people are.

It takes him about half an hour to get there, and he lingers in an alley across the way, waiting for Moony to recognize him. He’s sitting on a bench, absorbed in a book. He barks once, which gets his attention. Moony hurries over, stowing the book in his rucksack.

“You’re late,” Moony says reproachfully. Padfoot nudges his hip, urging him to follow. They move fast, considering Moony is fresh off a change. He smells familiar, the most like pack since that first day they reunited.

It’s just starting to rain when they make it back to the house. Moony pulls the hood of his jacket up, letting the dark fabric obscure his face. Padfoot remains for a moment, watching. The rain is sending the muggles scurrying for cover, and those who don’t cover themselves with umbrella. He sprints forward, a sleek, black blur. Moony follows.

On the stoop, Padfoot transforms and Sirius stands there, disoriented. Rainwater drips down his hair and floods the collar of the ancient sweater he has on.

“Alright?” he asks Remus breathlessly. He nods, looking around warily. “Kreacher will let us in. I told him to wait for us.”

“Right,” Remus says, swiping off some of the water. A few uncomfortable minutes pass and he decide that Kreacher clearly isn’t going to open the door. Fuck, she should have framed it as an order. Resigned, Sirius cuts his hand on the jagged stone that juts out from the wall, waiting for the blood to take. Remus watches with a grimace. The looks begin to click one by one and the door swings open.

There’s a scream and a jet of purple light that sends Sirius and Remus diving. Swearing, Sirius lurches to his feet, hurrying in. They’ve scared Harri with the bloody door.

“It’s me!” he says. For a seven-year-old, she’s pretty deadly with a wand, but the sooner they stop the magic, the less time the Trace will have to alert anyone. Harri peeks out from behind the umbrella stand.

“Padfoot!” she gasps, rushing over to give his wand back. “I’m sorry! Kreacher was saying that there was someone bad there—“

“I suppose he meant me,” Moony says with a wry grin. He crouches down and opens his arms. Harri lights up, rushing towards him and barreling into his chest. He pulls her into his arms and straightens up, keeping her perched on his hip.

“Happy birthday, pet,” he says. Grinning wide, Harri nearly strangles him in another hug, then leads them into the kitchen where she gets him the singular leftover slice of tart. When she asks if Kreacher will make some tea for them, he sets off one another of his stupid little rants, raving about how he’s forced to serves traitors, brats, and beasts.

Sirius ends up making a pot of tea.

They sit for a spell, while Harri fills Remus in on everything he missed. He’s an attentive listener, but eventually, Harri runs out of steam.

“I’m reading about Hogwarts,” she says. “But it’s a bit…”

“Bathilda Bagshot might’ve been a lovely woman and an excellent researcher, but she does not have a way with words,” Remus agrees. “Try again when you’re a little older.” He summons his rucksack, digging through to find a wrapped parcel.

“I have something for in the meantime,” he says. Reverent, Harri carefully pulls the paper off, revealing the next installment in the children’s book they’d read at Remus’s, as well as his old Gobstones set. “Admittedly, the set is about twenty years old, but it still works.”

“Thank you,” she says breathlessly. “Thank you so much!”

\--

Harri is having the absolute best day of her entire life. For the first time in seven years, she gets to have an actual birthday party. Moony magics some parchment into streamers, sticking them up around the kitchen. Kreacher makes a delicious cake, chocolate with caramel sauce.

They eat a delicious dinner of shepherds pie and cake, and she even gets to make a second wish. There’s nothing left in the world to wish for, but she makes her first wish again.

_Please keep Padfoot, Moony, and I safe and together_

After dinner, Moony shows her how to use the Gobstones. It’s fairly similar to marbles, but the stones douse you in something truly awful every time you lose a point. Moony’s the best and only gets squirted once. Padfoot’s the worst, and by the sixth time he’s squirted, he declared the game over, stalking upstairs to wash.

That night, both Moony and Padfoot tuck her into her new bed and tell her goodnight, sweeping the hair off her forehead. She falls asleep quickly, dreamless but satisfying.

Yes, Harri Potter is having the best day of her life

\--

August 1st, 1987, Molly Weasley goes outside bleary eyed and still dressed in her nightgown. She gathers the paper, tucking it under one arm, then summons the eggs, sending the chickens flying. She knows she shouldn’t, but something about it reminds her of her brothers. Mischief for mischief’s sake was their signature.

She sends the eggs to fly, starts cutting the bread, and finishes off some of the washing from last night. She would start the knitting to go on it’s own, but her knitting spells never quite work when she’s trying to do patterns.

Once breakfast is ready, she sets the table, calling down for the children and Arthur. One by one, they troop downstairs, still in pajamas. Percy is the first once down, his hair a veritable rat’s nest. Still sleepy, he gives her an absentminded hug and slumps into his seat. Bill and Charlie are next, arguing about something.

“I can’t believe she sent you dragonhide gloves!” Charlie fumes. “How can you be sure they’ve come from a dragon who’s died of natural causes?”

“If you don’t shut up, Charlie—“

“Enough!” Molly interjects, eyes flashing. Both boys go quiet, taking their seats. “They were a lovely present, the gloves, and I’m sure they dragon the came from lived a long happy life.” Neither boy says anything, too caught up in his own sulking. These boys, she thought, what could she do with them?

Of course, Fred, George, and Ron choose that moment to come thundering down the stairs, far too bright and energetic for this early. Molly corrals them into their seat and begins passing out the bread and jam.

Arthur comes down finally, arms laden with a still sleepy Ginny. She’s nearly six, and will take any opportunity to do things her own way, so Molly can understand Arthur wanting to relish these little moments with her.

“Got the paper, darling?” he asks, handing Ginny over. Molly settles her down with a nice slice of toast slathered in jam, then summons the paper. She passes it over, enchanting the eggs to dole themselves out in everyone’s plates.

Arthur unfurls the paper with Molly reading over his shoulder, and the two of them stare at the headline, gob smacked and a little fearful for their own children.

HARRIET POTTER MISSING, SUSPECTED TO HAVE BEEN KIDNAPPED BY NOTORIOUS DEATHEATER SIRIUS BLACK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now everyone knows! Let me know what you thought!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus has never been so nervous in his whole life. For the past two weeks, he’s watched over his shoulder for every move, and cast more disguising spells than he has in his life. He’s getting pretty good at this transfiguration thing. McGonagall would be proud, if she understood the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so the perspectives kind of ran away with me, but hopefully, you’ll enjoy!

Remus has never been so nervous in his whole life. For the past two weeks, he’s watched over his shoulder for every move, and cast more disguising spells than he has in his life. He’s getting pretty good at this transfiguration thing. McGonagall would be proud, if she understood the situation.

He’d found the paper first, actually, running an errand for Harri and Sirius. He remembers standing there, watching Sirius’s face as he screamed silently on the paper. He remembers snatching it up and throwing whatever coin he could reach first at the vendor. He’d rushed back to the house, arms laden with the supplies and dumped them in the kitchen for Kreacher to sort through.

“Sirius!” he’d hissed. “Give us a hand. Now!”

Disgruntled, Sirius had made his way over, Harri in tow.

“Not you, love, just Padfoot, alright?” Remus had told her, a strange manic edge to his voice. Sirius had instantly recognized it, smiling down at Harri with a touch more composure.

“Go on, go back to your reading,” he’d told her, giving her a gentle nudge. Harri had looked at them with clear, somber eyes, like she understood, but left all the same, without asking questions.

Remus had pulled the paper out, shoving it in his face. At first, Sirius had just stood there, a pale imitation of a smile on his face. Remus had watched the color drain from it, the panic creep in. When he looked up, his eyes were almost as manic as the man on the paper’s.

“What do we do?” he’d croaked softly. “We’re fucked. We’re fucked beyond belief.” He began to breathe strangely, and it took Remus a minute to understand what had happened. A panic attack. He’d not had one in years, since their third year, he’d reckoned. Fuck, James had been the only one who knew what to do.

Remus had grasped his shoulders, giving him a little shake and forcing to look up.

“We cannot have you lose it now,” he’d hissed. “We can’t let Harri know, understand? She’s too little to understand—”

“She’s not stupid,” Sirius had said in that same, faraway tone. “She’ll piece it together. We should tell her. Everything I mean. About what really happened that night, about the traitor—”

“Like fuck you will,” Remus had snarled. “She’s too little and it’s our job to protect her from things like that.” Suddenly, he’d felt the inexplicable urge to hit him, or maybe something worse.

He’d loosened his grip, stepping back and taking a deep breath. Sirius seemed to do the opposite, his own breathing going weak and shallow. Remus let him crumple to the floor before he crouched before him.

“We’re not fucked,” he’d said as soothingly as possible, laying on the charm. The only weapon in his arsenal and it was weak. Fucking shame. “We’ll be alright?”

“I’m not one of your pub girls, Remus, don’t lie to me,” he’d snarled, pulling up sharply. Remus colored at the implication.

“Just listen to me—”

“We have to move, maybe north? I’ve got people in Romania, maybe they’ll let us—”

“We’re not going to bloody Romania!”

“Not _us,”_ Sirius had said, giving Remus a strange look. “Harri and me.” Remus could only blink, feeling as though he’d just been slapped.

“And what am I meant to do whilst you take our goddaughter galavanting across the bloody continent?” Remus had asked, voice tight.

“Make sure everything looks normal,” he’d explained. “Listen, they’ll come to talk to you first, and then, I don’t know—”

“Don’t you think they’d check with your only living relatives first?” Remus offered coldly. “And then they’d try and hunt down whatever’s left of you-know-who, thinking you’d be mad enough to resurrect him.”

“You-know-who is dead—”

“Don’t be stupid enough to think that!”

“Alright,” Sirius had snarled, all patience gone. “What shall we do, O Wise One?”

“Stay here and stay hidden,” Remus had suggested. “No, think about it. The very last thing they’d expect you to do is hide out in muggle London, right? It’s why your dad chose this place as the new location for the house.”

“Maybe we can move the house? I mean, the magic’s complicated but my dad did it, and he wasn’t exactly student of the year—”

“Sirius, if only a Black can find and open the house, don’t you think only a Black could perform the spell? It would take you using your wand to cast tremendous amounts of magic, traceable amounts of magic. We’ll be caught if you try.”

“So, what then? Carry on like this forever?” Sirius’s voice had rose hysterically, and Remus was sure that if Harri wasn’t already listening at the door, she’d know what they were talking about now.

“Just for now,” Remus had said. “Until we can come up with a plan.”

Finally, Sirius had agreed, and they’d made their way back out to the parlor, where Harri sat perched on her armchair, looking like the picture of innocence. Remus scoffed softly. So, she had been listen.

“No point in pretending you hadn’t heard exactly what went on in there,” Sirius had said. Harri had flushed a little, brown cheeks going rosy. Sirius had perched on the armchair and Remus had taken the sofa opposite, and they explained—without mentioning the tragic, gory details—just what was going on.

That had been two weeks ago.

Now, Remus continues his usual practice of ducking into shops, changing his appearance, and casually strolling to the next one, making the long, winding way to Grimmauld Place. By the time he makes his way to the house, he’s short, squat, with a mop of dark hair, and bottle green eyes.

The door swings open the moment he steps onto the stoop, a new feature of making him part of the wards. Kreacher, the worst little house elf Remus had ever seen, had pitched a monumental fit over it, weeping about how his mistress’s blood was sullied beyond repair.

Thankfully, the hall is empty, and Remus drops off the fresh supplies without having to skirt past Kreacher. Nasty little shit calls him ‘mongrel.’ He finds Harri sitting on the sofa, reading through the latest in the series of children’s paperbacks he’d picked up for her.

“Where’s Padfoot?” he asks, stooping to give her a kiss.

“Dunno,” she says, distracted. “He’s been running around as a dog for a while.”

“As Padfoot?” Remus clarifies. Harri shrugs, setting aside her book.

“He looked upset,” she says, worried. “He doesn’t like being stuck in the house.”

“Me neither, pet,” Remus says. “Let me talk to him.”

“How much longer?” Harri asks, then suddenly flushes. “It’s just, Hogwarts is when I’m eleven, and that’s a long time from now. What about regular school? If I don’t show up, won’t I get in trouble?”

“Er…” Remus really doesn’t have an answer to that. Most pureblood children just have a tutor a few years before Hogwarts, to learn family history and perhaps basic magical control if their parents are so inclined. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Harri nods, decidedly unsatisfied, but picks the book back up. Remus sighs. This is entirely unsustainable, but there’s nothing else they can do right now.

Upstairs, Sirius is indeed Padfoot, laying waste to his father’s closet while Kreacher weeps in the corner. The house elf is gasping, breathless and silent, but Padfoot doesn’t cease.

“Oi!” he calls. Immediately, both of them stop.

“Mongrel has come to join the traitorous master?” Kreacher croaks, swiping snot and tears across his face.

“The contrary,” he says, perhaps a little coldly. “Sirius, what do you think you’re doing?” At that, he transforms back, fixing Remus with a particular sour look.

“I’m cleaning,” he says haughtily.

“All I’m seeing is a mess,” Remus counters, pointing out the shredded fabric everywhere.

“What the fuck else is there to do?” he says petulantly. “I’m going out of my mind.”

“Just hang on a bit longer—”

“How long?” Sirius snarls. “The only thing we can do is find Wormtail and turn him in, and then—”

“What are the chances that he’s even in the bloody UK?—”

“Then we should be out there! Looking for him!”

“And how do we do that with Harri? We’ve got a child now, we can’t be running loose. She needs stability—”

“She needs space! She can’t sit here in this house, cooped up, reading the same five fucking books over again!”

“She needs space, or you do?” Remus counters. Sirius’s face twists up into a snarl and for a second, Remus worries he’ll lunge at him, but he slumps. Remus makes his way over cautiously. He’s only seen Sirius look to small and pitiful a few times in his life, and it twists something painful within him.

He loops an arm around his shoulders, surprised when Sirius leans into the touch. There had been a moment, when they were 18 and stupid, the first night they’d gotten drunk in muggle London, where Sirius had gathered him in his arms and held tight, peppering kisses on Remus’s cheeks and neck, insisting he loved him.

It was foolish to think about. That Sirius had been drunk, caught up in his freedom, and lacking James, who’d snogging Lily for England at the time. This Sirius, the one almost teetering on his haunches, is a fractured, weathered version.

“Come on, my lad, just a little longer,” he whispers. “Pull it together for Harri.”

“Right,” he mumbles. The barest flush of color dusts his cheeks. “Harri.” Remus releases him, stepping away.

“Er, she’s been asking about school,” Remus explains hastily. “She’s bored.”

“Anyone would be,” Sirius mutters. “We can’t put her in muggle school. It’s not like we can just show up for parents’ night, can we?”

“Suppose not,” Remus says, smiling a little at the idea. “What did you learn before Hogwarts?”

“We had a tutor,” he explains. “My Great Aunt Griselda. Horrible women.”

“Right, but what did she teach you?” Remus asks again, a bit pointedly.

“Er, normal things, history of the school, the family history and genealogy, Latin, that sort of thing.”

“Well, we could probably teach her,” Remus suggests. “Be something interesting to do at least.”

“Could be.” It’s clear he’s warming up to the idea. His eyes don’t look so hollow anymore at least. “Er, but let me clean up a bit. I’m sort of… manky.”

Remus chuckles, stepping out. He can grabs some books, he supposes, figure out where to start. The Potter genealogy is obscenely complicated, from what he remembers James telling him. Best to leave that out for now.

He finds Hogwarts, A History abandoned in the library and grabs it, rifling through the chapters. Houses, that probably the best to start with.

\--

Ron Weasley gets the worst of everything. Clearly. They’re sitting at the breakfast table, and Charlie, Bill, and Percy are reading their Hogwarts letters. Bill’s got a shiny badge in hand, same as Charlie.

“Head Boy and the Youngest Quidditch Captain in the history of the house!” Mum cries. She beaming with pride. “Oh, I just can’t believe it!”

Dad even sets his paper aside to shake their hands. He’s been following the news religiously ever since that Black loon escaped from Azkaban and snatched up Harriet Potter. Ron feels bad about that, hoping she’s alright. Still, she’s got the whole of England out looking for her and Ron doesn’t even have his breakfast yet.

“Mum,” he whines, trying to get her attention. He goes ignored.

“What shall we get you?” she ask them eagerly. Presents? They get presents on top of this?

“Oh, Mum, it’s alright,” Bill tries to assure her. “Just letting me keep my hair like this is enough.” Ron and the twins exchange looks, snickering. He’s been growing his hair out for a while, and every summer since his third year, Mum’s been on his case to ‘look respectable’.

“William Weasley, you are going to be Head Boy!” Mum says sharply. Her face is starting to get red, a precursor to the yelling. Ron groans internally. They definitely won’t be getting breakfast while it’s hot. Another day of ice-cold eggs and stale toast.

\--

Quirinus Quirrell sits at the dining room table, going through his seventh year reading list. It’s expansive, he thinks, the most comprehensive list yet.

“Dad,” he calls out. “When do you think we can go to Diagon Alley? I’ve got quite a lot to pick up.”

“Look the library here!” Dad replies. Quirinus scowls, dragging himself up and out of his seat. His mum is dusting in the library, humming softly.

“Oh! Darling, you frightened me,” she laughs, seeing him. Quirinus flushes a little, mumbling an apology.

“Dad sent me to see if have anything off the reading list at home,” he explains, checking through the library.

“This is you’re A-level year, isn’t it?” she asks. He smiles.

“NEWTS, mum, but yeah,” he corrects her. “In Muggle Studies, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms.”

“I’m sure you’ll do wonderful!” she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You know, I was just talking to—Aah!”

A tired looking grey owl hovers outside the window, sinking lower by the second. Quirinus hurries to get the window and let it in.

“Oh, that never gets any easier,” his mum mutters uneasily. “Take care of it, will you darling? Send that thing on its way as fast as possible.”

“Sure, mum,” he says. “I’ll finish up here.”

With that, she hurries from the room and Quirinus takes the letter from the owl.

“Hey, Errol,” he mumbles, fetching a saucer of water for him. He hoots weakly, gulping up some of the water. Poor thing.

_Dear Q,_

_You were right! Got Head Boy. Mum at it again, trying to get me to cut my hair. Says I need to look respectable._

_Hope all’s well. Did you get giant candy box from Tonks? She says she’s sent them out, but I’ve yet to receive any._

_Write back soon!_

_Best,_

_Bill_

_P.S. Let Errol have a good rest. If he dies while delivering this letter, I’ll never hear the end of it._

Quirinus grins. Bill Weasley is without a doubt the coolest bloke at Hogwarts. He’s a Gryffindor, but doesn’t mind that his two best mates are in two different houses. Still, there’s a strange sort of jealousy that twists in his stomach at the idea of effortless, golden boy Bill getting Head Boy.

He writes off a quick reply, assuring Bill that Tonks, the third in their Trio—a particularly feisty Hufflepuff—has not sent her presents out yet. With that, he send Errol off, feeding him some last minute bird seed to get his strength up.

He goes back to searching the shelves, stopping at a particularly intriguing title. _Magicks Moste Complex._ A subtitle boasts that only the strongest and purest of blood can learn this magic. With a start, he realizes it’s dark magic. What’s this doing here?

“Darling, did you find your books?” his mum calls from the safety of the living room. Dark magic isn’t taught at school, not even to seventh years. Besides, it’s not like he’s all that great at magic either, save for defensive magic. A boy as frail as him needs to know it. He can’t have Bill and Tonks protect him all the time.

Still.

He takes the book.

“Yeah, mum, I’ve got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my home girl for the Bill/Tonks/Quirrell headcanons, and let me know what you thought!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harri really is the luckiest girl in the universe. Instead of having to go to regular school, Padfoot and Moony are going to teach her at home! No more mean teachers, no more cruel girls who won’t play with her, and best of all, no more Dudley!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! I know I’m a day late, but in my defense, it was my birthday yesterday. Either way, hope you guys enjoy!

Harri really is the luckiest girl in the universe. Instead of having to go to regular school, Padfoot and Moony are going to teach her at home! No more mean teachers, no more cruel girls who won’t play with her, and best of all, no more Dudley!

All of yesterday, Moony had sat at the kitchen table, devising up a lesson plan, flicking through a veritable mountain of books. In the meantime, Harri had coaxed Padfoot into a game of Gobstones. She was quite good, and Padfoot didn’t really complain every time he lost.

“Remind me to teach you chess,” he grumbled, swiping off the puss on his face.

“Is it just regular chess?” Harri asked, intrigued. She’d seen the older kids at her school play it, the year fours and fives. Padfoot shrugged.

“I’ve never played muggle chess,” he said. “You’ll have to tell me.”

Today, she sits at the kitchen table, a safe way away from the books. Moony could get temperamental if they were disturbed, Padfoot explains, best to stay out of his way. She gulps down milky tea and toast, a staple around her. Kreacher’s learned to do the toast just right, and he barely calls her Brat anymore. Of course, he doesn’t call her Harri either. If he’s talking about her, he’ll just call her the child.

“What are we going to do today?” she asks the kitchen at large. Moony, still nearly invisible behind his pile of books, waves a piece of parchment at her.

“I’ll translate,” Padfoot says, rolling his eyes. “He means you’ll have your first lesson today, soon as he’s finished.”

“Brilliant! Will I get a wand? What sort of magic will I learn?” Moony peeks over the pile, mouthful of toast. He swallows quickly, laughing a little.

“Not yet, darling,” he says. “First we’ve got to talk about the basics. Keep up with the reading and the maths.”

Harri flushes. She had thought she’d be done with that.

“We’ll start with history, first,” Moony says. “Promise I won’t make it dry.”

After breakfast, they troop into the library to set up their history lesson. Moony’s a really good teacher, and just like he promised, it’s not dry at all. She learns about Hogwarts, the houses, the founds, and the ghosts. Padfoot joins them too, peppering in his stories about Peeves, the poltergeist. Harri resolves to never cross paths with him when she gets to school.

They keep up their lesson all the way to lunch time, and Harri even gets an assignment. She’s to write about her favorite part of the lesson, on parchment paper, with a quill. Nervously, she agrees. She doesn’t have the best penmanship with a regular pencil, let alone a quill.

They do lessons every day, though the topic changes. Some days, Harri learns about Hogwarts and what types of magic there are. Other days, she learns about the ministry and Gringotts. Sometimes, Padfoot gives her Latin lessons.

“It’ll help with your wandwork,” he explains. It’s difficult work, especially the Latin, but she doesn’t mind. She can even introduce herself now.

Usually, Moony teaches her, with Padfoot hovering close, but he takes over when Moony has to go back.

After a week of lessons, Moony has to go back to his part of London. His boss, he had explained, was ill, and he needed to look after the shop. Padfoot had been handed a stack of notes about her lessons and off he’d gone.

The first day Moony was gone, things were mostly normal. They missed him, sure, but Padfoot carried on like Moony would. The next few days after that were… hard.

Harri could see where his patience wore thin, and she tried not to get on his nerves. It was hard to predict his moods, though, and as a result, Padfoot had snapped at her once. He’d been really sorry about it after, clinging and cuddling despite Harri’s insistence that she was alright.

Today, he seems particularly strange, bustling about the kitchen, trying to cook up lunch. He’d shooed Kreacher from the kitchen and insisted that he do it himself.

“I can help,” Harri offers. “I know how to make some things.”

“S’alright! Here, try this!” he says brightly—strangely, Harri thinks privately—dumping a half0liquid, half-solid lump onto her plate.

“Er,” she says, examining it. “What is it?”

“It’s…” Padfoot trails off, the energy seeping off his face. “It’s probably not good, Hazza, never mind.” She tries to protest, but he doesn’t let her, clearing the plate and calling Kreacher back to make her lunch.

Harri doesn’t like when Padfoot goes off on his own in this house. She doesn’t know where she goes, because both he and Moony had banned her from a lot of the rooms. She doesn’t know what he does and he always comes back in a sad, angry mood.

As it turns out, he didn’t even make it that far. Harri finds him pacing in the front hallway, muttering darkly to himself.

“Traded that fucking cell for this one,” he says, low and angry. “Can’t fucking stand it!”

“Padfoot?” she calls cautiously. He stops abruptly, a faint pink appearing on his cheeks. He tries for a smile, but it comes out mangled and decidedly un-Padfoot-like. “Alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” he says. Even his voice is strange. Harri wishes she could fix him, make him feel better somehow. She wishes Moony was here too. “Just… er, just needed a minute, sorry, darling.”

“S’okay,” Harri says. She takes his hand and holds tight. It’s something she learned from Moony, who’ll do that to her or Padfoot when they’re feeling down. “Shall we play game? Maybe you can show me wizard’s chess?”

“Can’t find the bloody chess set,” Padfoot mutters, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Harri squeezes tighter.

“A different game? Not Gobstones, but anything you like!”

“I need some air,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like he’s talking to her.

“Shall we open the windows?” Harri suggests. She feels squirmy and weird, and she definitely doesn’t like this.

“I need to be out,” he says. “I need some real air, and I need the sun.”

“But—”

“I know why I can’t!” he says sharply, and Harri drops his hand, shrinking back into herself. She’s such an idiot, of course he knows.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Harri,” he says, crouching to meet her eyes. “I’m trapped here in this house and we can’t leave—”

“Because of me,” she supplies, thinking back to the conversation she overheard a week ago. She’d tried to put it out of her mind, but sometimes, in moments like these, it pops back up. “If I wasn’t here you could go to Romania and get the tail-thing to set you free.”

“You heard that, did you?” he asks softly. “Harri, that’s not true. I couldn’t leave either way, and besides, I couldn’t bear to go anywhere without you.”

“I don’t know how to help you,” she confesses, guilt still swirling in her stomach.

“That’s not your job,” he explains. “I’m meant to take care of you, not the other way around.”

“I don’t mind,” Harri says quickly, in case he gets any ideas of dropping her back at the Dursley’s. “Really!”

“We just a break,” Padfoot says, straightening up. “The both of us. Children can’t be cooped up like this, it’s inhumane.”

Harri doesn’t know that word, but it doesn’t sound good.

“Kreacher!” There’s a sharp crack and Kreacher appears, scowling at the pair of them.

“What does Master want now?” he sneers.

“I need you to disguise us,” he explains. “I need to be shorter, paler, with blond hair and blue eyes. Same for Harri.”

“Why?” Harri asks. Still, she watches, fascinated, as the change settles over Padfoot and he becomes a stranger. Kreacher turns to her and flicks his hand, and Harri gasps at the sensation of magic. It’s cold and sort of ticklish.

“Brilliant,” says Padfoot. “Completely unrecognizable!”

“Why do we need to be unrecognizable?” Harri pushes.

“I’m taking you to Diagon Alley!” Padfoot tells her, grinning wide. “It’s a shame you’ve never seen it. We can get supplies, and more books to teach you, plus the best ice cream you’ve ever had in your life!”

“But, I thought we weren’t meant to go out,” she says. “Moony says—”

“Moony’s not here, and I’m in charge,” Padfoot says quickly. “You really want to skip ice cream?”

Harri doesn’t care about the ice cream, though it does sound nice. Still, maybe this will make Padfoot feel better, and he’ll be normal again. Just a quick trip where they won’t speak to anyone.

“Alright,” she says. “I’ll come.”

“Good,” he says. “But I can’t call you Harri. We’ll have to pick something else.”

“How about Hedwig?” she says. Saint Hedwig, the witch who discovered permanent sticking charms, was one of the few standouts from a _History of Magic_. Most of those lessons had been dull despite Moony’s best efforts, but Harri had liked the name.

“Alright,” Padfoot says. “Off we go, Hedwig, stick close now.”

Snickering despite herself, Harri takes his hand and follows him out the door.

*

Ron’s absolutely buzzing with excitement. Diagon Alley is his favorite place in the whole world, and even though neither he nor the twins are going to school this year, they’re still excited to go. Ginny is the only one who’s stroppy.

“I don’t want to go!” she declares, stamping her feet. Bill and Mum exchange glances, and Mum’s face gets read, but before Mum can yell, Bill crouches down and whispers something in Ginny’s ear. At once, her expression clears, and she beams up at him.

Ron can’t help the little burn of jealousy. He wishes Bill would remember he had five brothers, not just Charlie and Ginny. Still the prospect of Diagon Alley perks him up considerably.

At Diagon Alley, Ron shakes off the aftereffects of riding through the Floo. They’re waiting outside Gringotts while Mum makes a withdrawal. Charlie’s trying to keep Fred and George in line while Bill patiently answers all of Percy’s questions. Ron’s been given the task of holding onto Ginny.

Finally Mum comes back, clutching the coin purse.

“Right, three sets of supplies to buy and no dad,” she mutters, shaking her head. “We’ll have to divide, I suppose.”

“Brilliant!” Fred crows, but Mum gives him a sharp look.

“The twins and Percy with me, while Bill, you take the rest. Keep an eye on Ron and Ginny, won’t you darling?”

“Course, mum,” he promises with a grin. Ron’s jaw drops, he can hardly believe his luck! Grinning, Charlie swings Ginny up on his shoulder and Bill grins down at Ron.

“Meet back at the Leaky Cauldron at noon, sharp! Do not forget!” Bill assures her and they take off.

“If we’re quick and you two are good, we can go to Quality Quidditch Supplies,” Bill says. Happy beyond belief, Ron takes his hand, following him along.

*

Dot is a proper beast when she’s ill, and Remus would know. He’s been running back and forth between the store and her apartment, ferrying up cups of tea or books as she finishes them. She snaps at him and moans about her illness, and Remus refrains from wondering aloud how it is she’s never married.

Today, though, she’s well enough to come down and look after her own bloody store. Remus shoves the latest arrivals into the shelves, trying to stay clear of her. If he finishes up fast, he can go home.

It’s strange that he means Grimmauld Place instead of the flat, but he can’t help himself. Sirius is there with Harri, and that’s where Remus belongs. It makes him feel guilty, especially since Sirius despises the place, but he’s come to appreciate the cozy library he’s commandeered as his classroom, and even the bedroom he’s been given, despite it’s silver and green décor.

He’ll bring Sirius something back, as an apology. He’s always been fond of muggle liquor, so Remus grabs a bottle of sherry and another of brandy to take back. Maybe they’ll have a drink together after Harri’s gone to bed.

Around noon, a small miracle grace’s the store and Dot waves him on, insisting she can handle the crowds by herself. Remus looks around, finds a single other person browsing the store and agrees, leaving immediately.

Humming a little, he makes his way back to Grimmauld Place, the bottles carefully stowed in his bag. The door swings open for him and he calls out for Harri and Sirius, expecting at least Harri to come running up to say hello.

He calls a few more times, going so far as to check around the house, but no one is there. Even Kreacher has gone off to hide somewhere. Panic courses through him and Remus dumps the contents of his bag on the sofa, looking around wildly.

The mirror. He needs James’ and Sirius’ bloody mirrors. Sirius had sent Kreacher off in search a few days ago and Sirius had given one to Remus, in case of emergencies.

“Sirius Black!” he all but yells into the mirror. The man who answers is not Sirius, or so Remus thinks before he takes in the shape of his face. Sirius is going to have to work harder if he wants to disguise himself.

“Remus! Thank fuck, I was just about to—”

“Where. The. FUCK. Ar. You?” Remus snarls through tight teeth. Sirius recoils a little, shame clear on his face. Panic beats harder against him, and Remus’s breathing goes faint.

“We’re, uh, listen, we’re in Diagon Alley—”

“Why would you be so fucking stupid—”

“Just listen!” Sirius commands and at once Remus shuts up. “I took Harri out. I know it was stupid, I know! But now I can’t find her and—”

“You can’t find her,” Remus repeats, faint.

“No! We were going to Quality Quidditch Supplies, but there was this whole group of people, and then I saw Nymphadora, and I had to make sure she didn’t see me, and in the whole commotion, I lost Harri.”

“It didn’t occur to you not to go out during the Hogwarts rush?” Remus asks. The panic and anger have run their course and all that’s left is a cold, furious rationality. Sirius sputters, but Remus cuts him off.

“Where are you exactly?”

“The Leaky Cauldron,” he says. “I told her to meet me here in case we got separated, but—”

“Stay exactly where you are and don’t fucking move,” Remus says. “I’m coming to get you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question about Sirius: how does his personality feel to you guys? Is there a balance between Mauraders!Sirius and Trauma!Sirius? Let me know what you thought!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diagon Alley is the coolest place Harri has ever been to. Padfoot leads her to a tiny, decrepit pub deep in London. Harri marvels at it, stunned at all the wizards around. Some read huge books with titles Harri’s never seen in a normal—muggle, she supposes—library. Some sit in groups, talking and laughing as they eat. Dishes float around, drinks whizz to people’s tables, and Harri watches it all with wide eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Look at me, putting updates back up on time! Anyways, enjoy the precursor to the plot kicking in!

Diagon Alley is the coolest place Harri has ever been to. Padfoot leads her to a tiny, decrepit pub deep in London. Harri marvels at it, stunned at all the wizards around. Some read huge books with titles Harri’s never seen in a normal—muggle, she supposes—library. Some sit in groups, talking and laughing as they eat. Dishes float around, drinks whizz to people’s tables, and Harri watches it all with wide eyes.

“Keep up, now love,” Padfoot says, grabbing her hands. He leads her through the pub to the second door, which is just a dead end. Harri quirks her eyebrow.

“Er, let’s hope this doesn’t set off the Trace,” Padfoot mutters, fishing out his wand. He taps on the bricks and suddenly, they begin to shift. Harri gasps, hurrying forward only to be caught by Padfoot’s hand. 

“Hold on, let it finish,” he says. Harri squirms, waiting for the wall to finish its transition to archway. Once completed, Harri all but drags him across.

“Whoa!” she gasps, watching the crowd of busy wizards and witches bustling about. The building is tall, stacked on top of each other almost precariously, but none waver. Harri reads as many signs as she can see. Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, Goodwin’s Apothecary, Flourish and Blots, and so many more. She sorely wished she had about eight more eyes to take it all in.

“Where should we start?” Padfoot asks her, grinning.

“Er…” Harri looks around, deciding on Gamble and Japes. It looked just as good as any to start.

“Merlin, I haven’t been in ages,” Padfoot says wistfully. “It was your dad’s favorite place, well, that and Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.”

“Really?” Harri asks eagerly, tugging him along. Padfoot tells her all about the hours they’d put in at the shop, chasing each other around, “sampling” the products. Harri peruses every isle, peers in every crate. It’s a combination toy and joke shop, and they’ve got something for everyone. Padfoot points out his favorites and she laughs herself silly at the stories he tells, especially the dungbombs-in-the-greenhouses story.

The head into the bookstores next, starting with Flourish and Blots. It’s a bit like a mad scientist’s office, she thinks, the way books are stacked everywhere, crammed into shelves. There are even some that float about lazily in the air. Harri snatches at one, plucking it off its course.

“Arithmancy for beginners,” she reads aloud, flipping through the pages. It looks rather complicated, strange numbers and symbols, so she lets it go, watching in awe as it resumes its round about the store. Padfoot picks up a book about potions, and another about wards, paying extra to have the man package them all up.

Next, they make their way into the apothecary. It sort of smells in there, but Harri doesn’t mind, not when there’s so much to look at. She looks through the vials, plays with the barrels, dragging the scoops through them. Padfoot argues with the woman at the counter about prices— “ _fifteen_ sickles for a measly little bouquet of aconite? Are you mad?”

Padfoot gives in, however, and they leave with jars, and boxes, and paper bags full of herbs. Harri assumes it’s nothing to cook with.

Padfoot takes her for ice cream, and he’s absolutely right, it’s the best she’s ever had. That’s not saying too much, considering she count on one hand the number of times she’s been given ice cream, but she’s willing to bet it’s the best in the world.

“Shall we to Quality Quidditch supplies next?” Padfoot asks. Harri’s too busy devouring her cone—raspberry and chocolate with chopped nuts—but she nods. “Or the stationary shop? I do more parchment…”

She’s not paying much attention to where he takes her, just watching people go by. A huge crowd, a bunch of teenagers dash past and Harri’s caught in the throng. She’s jostled around, loosening her grip on Padfoot’s hand until she loses it altogether.

Harri turns this way and that, but she can’t see him. Panic starts to swell in her chest, but she pushes it down. She needs to think. What was the store he’d said?

“Bill, can’t we go into look at brooms?” a boy whines.

“Quality Quidditch Supplies!” a girl says. Yes! That had been the place! Harri watches them, a group of four, who were clearly siblings, if their matching red hair and freckles were anything to go on.

“I do need handle polish,” another boy remarked to the oldest. The oldest, Bill, checked his watch.

“Mum said noon on the dot,” he tells them. “If we’re late, even by a minute, it’s on Charlie’s head.”

“Hey!” Charlie, a stocky looking older boy, protests, but he’s cut off, when the youngest two dash off into a shop. “Ginny! Ron! Hold on!”

Harri follows them inside, hoping to find Padfoot. Instead, all she sees are broomsticks. They’re beautiful, too, so many in different designs and colors. She gasps softly. In the middle of the store, on a pedestal, sits a gleaming broomstick of dark wood, it’s bristles slicked back.

“Wicked, isn’t it?” says a boy. Harri turns to find one of the boys—the youngest one—standing next to her.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Do you play quidditch?” She’s never met anyone who played, but Padfoot’s told her plenty about her dad’s games.

“No, but I will when I get to school, like my brother Charlie!” he says, pointing out his brother. “He’s captain, youngest one yet!”

“My dad was captain when he went to school, too,” Harri tells him excitedly.

“Cool,” he says. “I’m Ron, by the way.”

“I’m… er, Hedwig,” Harri says. Ron gives her a funny look, but nods.

“You have any brothers or sisters in school?” he asks. “They might know mine.”

“No, just me,” she says. “Say, you didn’t see in a man walk in here, did you? Short-ish with blond hair? I’m looking for my dad.”

“No, sorry,” Ron says with a frown. “Come on, Bill will know what to do.” Harri follows him along to where his older brothers are looking through the racks of care supplies.

“Who’s that?” the girl asks, shoving her red hair out of her face.

“This is Hedwig,” Ron says. “She’s lost her dad.”

“Was he a sadist then?” Charlie asks with an amused chuckle. “Name like that, you’d think—“

“Charlie, shut up,” Bill says sharply. He turns to her, softening. “Hedwig, was it?” Harri nods, heat flaring into her cheeks. She doesn’t know what sadist is, but it doesn’t sound good. Perhaps she ought to have picked a better name.

“You can come with us,” Bill decides. “Mum will know what to do.” Harri hesitates; if she goes with them, they might find out who she is, and tell, which would land Padfoot right back in jail. On the other hand, she’s entirely lost, and they seem nice. Harri nods.

Charlie scoops up the girl and deposits her on his shoulders. Bill takes hold of Ron’s hand, and before she can react, Ron takes hold of hers.

“So, you don’t lost again,” he says by way of explanation. They make their way back to the pub, and Bill does the tapping on the wall, opening up the door. They troop into the pub—the Leaky Cauldron, Padfoot had something about it, but she hadn’t been listening—to find the rest of Ron’s family. There are three more boys with their mum, a pair of twins and a thin, reedy looking boy with the same coloring.

“Who’s that?” one of the twins asks.

“Oh, dear, Bill, what’s this?” their mum asks, looking concerned at Harri.

“This is Hedwig, said she couldn’t find her dad,” Bill explains. Nervous, Harri drops Ron’s hand.

“Poor little dear!” she cries. “Are you alright? Have you been alone long?”

“No, not long,” Harri says. “We were supposed to go to the quidditch shop, but then I lost him, and didn’t seen him in the shop.”

“Right, right,” she mutters to herself. “What was your name, again?”

“Hedwig,” she says.

“Har—er, Hedwig!” Moony’s voice rings out before Ron’s mum can make much of that, and Harri absolutely sags in relief to see him.

“That’s your dad?” Ron’s mum asks, a bit skeptical. Thankfully, Moony hurries over before she has to answer.

“Alright?” he asks. He looks to family Harri’s with and smiles. “Hi, I’m, er, John Moon, I’m Hedwig’s uncle.”

“My dad’s brother,” Harri pipes up. At that, Ron’s Mum relaxes.

“Poor dear got separated,” she says. “Actually, my son, Bill found her.”

“Thanks so much,” Moony says. He looks odd, actually, and his smile is a bit wrong. Harri recognizes it after a moment. It’s the same smile Aunt Petunia gets when she can’t yell at her in public. “My brother can be abysmally irresponsible.” Ron’s mum frowns at that, but she smiles at Harri.

“Stay safe, dear,” she says, and Harri promises she will. She turns to Ron.

“Bye then,” she says, a bit forlorn. He was nice.

“Bye,” Ron echoes. “Maybe I’ll see you at school someday?”

“Yeah,” Harri says, smiling wide. “See you!” With that, Harri follow’s Moony out of the pub, to the muggle side. He’s silent and Harri fidgets. She’ll be locked in her room for sure, probably without meals. She was so stupid to lose Padfoot like that!

Padfoot waits in an alley as Padfoot-the-dog, and he barks excitedly to see Harri, dashing up to lick her face, tail wagging. Her worries melt away and she throws her arms around him.

“Right, let’s go,” Moony says, holding his wand aloft. Padfoot turns back to human and scoops Harri up, instructing her to tuck her face into his neck. Then, he does something odd. He steps close to Moony and hugs him tight. Before Harri can comment, they turn on the spot and there’s a loud crack before she starts to feel strange.

It happens fast. Frist she can’t breathe, then she feels like she’s being squeezed everywhere, and then it all stops. She slumps against Padfoot breathing hard

“What was that?” she asks, lifting her head. To her absolute surprise, they’re back on the stoop of Grimmauld Place. “We’re home!”

“We’ll talk inside,” Moony says sharply, shoving open the door and disappearing down the hallway.

*

Sirius sets Harri down gently, sending her on ahead. She definitely didn’t need to hear this.

“Is Moony very angry with us?” she asks in a soft whisper. He swallows hard, trying for a smile.

“Just me, I think,” he says. “Go on to your room for a bit. I need to talk to Moony.”

“But it’s my fault,” Harri protests. He shakes his head, pointing upstairs.

“Sweetheart, it was all my fault,” he explains. “You are not in any trouble, I promise you.” A worried frown mars her little face, but she goes. Swallowing hard, Sirius heads into the kitchen, where Remus is angrily making a pot of tea while Kreacher glares at him from the corner.

“Look, it’s my fault—“

“I know.” Curt, but not loud. This would be bad.

“Harri—“

“Is a child,” he finishes. “She cannot make her decision’s, she’s only seven.”

“I know,” Sirius parrots back, anger rising. He knows he’s being irrational, that it is his fault, but he’s never taken to discipline.

“How could you take her out?” Remus snarls, whirling around. “Knowing everything that we’re risking to keep you safe, to keep her safe—“

“What the fuck do you think you’re risking?” Sirius snarls back. It’s him trapped here, day in and day out, pacing a slightly bigger cage. It’s him breathing in the same air, gasping because his lungs won’t fill all the way. Remus gets to go free, gets to keep his little job, gets to use magic—

“You think I’m not risking anything?” Remus hisses. “Me? If I’m caught helping you, I can’t even imagine what they’ll do to me!”

Sirius doesn’t have anything to say to that, but his anger is deep—not just at Remus for yelling, but for everything. He seethes, absolutely shaking with his rage. Remus shuts his eyes and sucks in a deep breath.

“Today was bad,” he says, forcing a calm. “If the charm wore off, Harri Potter would’ve been revealed in the streets, ripe for anyone to snatch up for the reward.”

“What reward?” Sirius retorts, anger still prevalent. Remus gives him a weird look.

“Sirius, it’s all over the prophet—“

“I know, about how I’ve kidnapped her—“

“No! The ministry’s put together a search party, and they’ve got a decent reward going for anyone who brings Harri in unharmed. Didn’t you read the paper this morning?” In truth, he hadn’t. He’d already been spiraling when he woke, and the paper seemed incredibly trivial. Another crucial mistake.

“I didn’t, I didn’t know,” he stammers, swallowing hard. Remus shakes his head, looking fearfully up.

“We can’t tell her,” he says softly. “You know what James would’ve done, and she’ll do the same.” James would’ve marched right in and turned himself in if it meant that he could save Sirius, and Harri has proven over and over again that she truly is his daughter.

“What do we do?” Sirius asks miserably. He knows the answer. More waiting here, safe and hidden, in the house where he first learned that parents didn’t always love their children, that fathers weren’t afraid to sink their fists in their son’s stomach, over and over until he cried out for mercy.

“We can’t live like this,” Remus decides. “We need help.”

“Help? Who in Merlin’s name is going to help us?” he asks. There’s a strange look in Remus’s eyes. If they’d been in school, it definitely would’ve resulted in detentions for a month. “Remus—“

“We need an ally,” he says abruptly. “Someone that people trust and will trust us.”

Sirius realizes what he means in an instant, and frankly, he’s torn between fear that this will result in his direct imprisonment and, for the first time in a while, hope.

*

Late August finds Albus Dumbledore a very busy man. There are nine days until term starts again, and just yesterday, Louvenia Templeton has announced this will be her last year teaching muggle studies. She’s decided to live with her children in America, to study the muggles there. To make matters worse, Fawkes has begun molting, a sure sign of rebirth. He will be particularly difficult in the coming weeks.

Currently, he’s sitting at his desk going over the final list for the upcoming class of first years. He ticks through, making sure each child has responded. Once he’s finished verifying Weasley, Percival’s attendance—no doubt a Gryffindor—an owl hoots outside his open window.

“Ah,” he says gesturing for the owl to come in. “What do you have for me? Fawkes, if you wouldn’t mind moving aside to let this poor fellow rest, he looks as if he’s had a very long flight.” Fawkes gives him a reproachful look, but steps aside.

Albus unfurls the sheet of parchment tied carefully to the owl’s leg, apologizing for the intrusion.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I know that the last time we spoke, I told you I had no idea about Sirius and Harri, but things have changed. I believe we can trust you and I hope you can trust me enough to give us a chance. Please let me know if you’d be willing to listen to us. I think you’d understand once you’ve heard._

_Thank you,_

_Remus Lupin_

Albus reads the letter a few times, but the words don’t change. Remus had been quite convincing the last time they’d spoke, and his mind—Albus had only probed gently, just to check that he was being truthful—had been sincere. What a clever boy.

Harri.

He wouldn’t have called her that if he meant to harm her. He’d call her the child, or something to that affect.

And then there was the issue of Sirius. It had stunned him to know he’d betrayed the Potter’s, betrayed his very closest friend like that. Frankly, Albus’s trust in others has been waning for quite some time, but that had destroyed him.

Still, Remus was a good person, no matter how clever or duplicitous he could be. Kindness shone through him, and Albus knew that he wouldn’t hurt James and Lily’s daughter, not when they’d shown him such kindness.

There was also the matter of Petunia’s reaction to consider. Of course, she’d been near hysterics when he’d visited, and had almost refused him entry, but eventually, she’d given in. When he’d asked after Harri, she’d told him rather coldly that her godfather had come to collect her.

When he’d asked if there was anything dangerous about the man, she’d sneered her response, but had stopped, and in a rather confused tone, informed him that Sirius had sworn to protect her. Not take care of or anything that could have sinister connotation but protect.

As he was leaving, she’d asked him uncertainly about the blood wards, about Lily’s protection. Albus still didn’t have an answer, despite the weeks spent researching.

Deeply uncertain, Albus pulls out a quill and a fresh roll of parchment and begins to pen a response. Time to see where everyone’s loyalties truly lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty then, time for actual plot! Tune in next week!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither Moony nor Padfoot will tell Harri what’s going on, but she knows they’re waiting for something. They pace by the windows in the kitchen, and by the time Kreacher finishes dinner, neither of them is in a mood to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we’re getting into the plot! Hope you enjoy!

Neither Moony nor Padfoot will tell Harri what’s going on, but she knows they’re waiting for something. They pace by the windows in the kitchen, and by the time Kreacher finishes dinner, neither of them is in a mood to eat.

At first, Harri thinks it’s because of the Diagon Alley trip, that they are angry with her, but Moony pulls her aside and promises her it’s not. He still won’t tell her what, though. Around eleven, when Harri can no longer force herself to be awake, she pads into the kitchen to inform them she’s going to bed, and they see her off with hurried kisses.

Strange.

The next morning is stranger still, because when Harri comes downstairs, she finds Kreacher attempting to set the table for breakfast, muttering darkly about ‘Master’ and the ‘Beast’ cluttering up his kitchen. As it is, they’re both slumped on the table, dead asleep.

“Padfoot?” Harri says, poking his shoulder. He jolts up with a start, bleary eyed and panicked.

“Is it here?” he demands.

“What? Is what here?” Padfoot cranes his neck out the kitchen window, and Harri is suddenly reminded of Aunt Petunia, who liked to use her long neck to spy on the neighbors. Only difference is, Padfoot has his eyes turned to the sky.

“Moony,” Harri says, poking him too. “What are you waiting for?” Moony wakes much more slowly, his eyes still drooping as he pulls himself up.

“What time is it?” he croaks.

“Morning,” Harri says. “What are you waiting for?”

“Remus,” Padfoot says, and Moony is up, alert and worried. “It’s here.” A giant owl flies through the open window and Kreacher shrieks, waving his wooden spoon at it, but Padfoot pushes him away. Remus sets down a saucer of water and plucks the tightly rolled parchment off its leg before it can even offer.

Padfoot and Moony huddle together to read it, and Harri starts to get cross. Trying to keep her anger in check, she flops down in one of the seats, waiting. Kreacher, still upset and eyeing the owl like he’d like to cook it up, sets down a cup of tea for her.

Padfoot sinks down to the floor, onto his knees, eyes unfocused and far away. Harri hurries towards them, worried.

“Padfoot!” she says. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I suppose we ought to tell her,” Padfoot says, not looking at her. “No point in lying if we’ve got to go.”

“S’pose so,” Moony says with a sigh. He takes a seat and offers a hand to Harri. “We sent a letter to someone very important yesterday, asking if he’d listen to us about Siri—er, Padfoot.”

“About why he was in jail even though he never did anything?” Harri guesses.

“Yeah,” Moony says. “He wrote back and he’s willing to listen to us.”

“Who is it?”

“Albus Dumbledore,” Padfoot says, finally getting off the floor to take a seat. “Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts! The magic school?” Harri clarifies. Perhaps he knows someone on the council, maybe a barrister or someone. Harri wonders briefly if wizards even had barristers.

“He’s… pretty important,” Moony says. “He can help us set Padfoot free, I think.” At that, Padfoot snorts.

“Can I see the letter?” Harri asks. Moony spreads it out on the table for her to see, smoothing out the rolled parchment.

_Remus,_

_I can only offer a chance to explain. Sunday, at nine. Head to Hogsmeade, find Aberforth. He will send you to me._

_Remember, I will know if I am being deceived._

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harri’s not sure about the man, especially after that last line. What if he rings the police as soon as they get there?

“It’s our best bet,” Moony explains. “If Dumbledore vouches for Sirius, the world will just fall in line.”

“If,” Padfoot says. “And it’s a very big ‘if’.”

*

Sunday Morning, Nymphadora Tonks is woken to a great banging on her door. She wakes with a jolt, falling out of bed. Tangled in her duvet, she fights to shove it down and get some air. Her room is absolute mess, the entire contents of her school trunk covering every spare inch of the room.

“Nymphadora, get up now! You’ve only got two days to pack and I know you haven’t gotten started!”

“Mum,” Tonks groans, finally freeing herself of the duvet. “Leave it, won’t you? It’s so early.”

“If I don’t hurry you, there’ll still be packing to do on Tuesday morning, and I’m not having it.” With that, her mother bursts in, taking in the state of the room with a deep sigh. “Nymphadora, this is entirely unacceptable.”

“Mum,” Tonks all but growls. “Do _not_ call me Nymphadora.”

“It’s a lovely name,” Mum sniffs. “It means ‘gift of the nymphs’, you know.”

“Mum,” she says, already exhausted. “You’ve only told me about a million times.” Thankfully, her dad chooses then to intervene.

“Andy, leave her, won’t you? We’ve only got our little girl for two more days before she’s off for her last year,” Dad says, wrapping his arms around her Mum and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Tonks tries and fails to hide a smile. “Still, pet, best to start with the packing now, don’t you think?”

“I haven’t even had any breakfast,” she whines. She’ll have to do the packing by hand, because all three of them have the worst organizational spells ever. It doesn’t seem like it, but she gets her catastrophic tendencies from her mum, not her dad.

“Well come on, then!” They make their way into kitchen, where Morgause, their owl, waits with letters in beak. Mum grabs them, reading their senders out.

“Darling, one from William and one from Quirinus.” Tonks grabs the letters, tearing them open.

“Mum, it’s _Bill_ and _Q_ ,” she corrects. It’s hopeless to try, though. She scans through them quickly, just updates about the many Weasley siblings and thanks for the sweets from Bill, and thanks from Q, along with a rambled few paragraphs on DADA. She smiles. Merlin, she’d missed them.

Just two more days. Two more days and she’d be back.

*  
Sunday morning, Remus, Sirius, and Harri head out to find a secluded spot to apparate from. Remus settles Harri on his back and hoists Sirius in dog form up into his arms. Overbalanced and a bit unsure, he turns on the spot, focusing on The Hogshead pub.

He opens his eyes and they’ve arrived, limbs still intact. He drops Sirius a bit unceremoniously, who scampers off to turn back, and helps Harri down.

“Will we have to do that again?” she asks, shaking a little. Remus smooths back some of her errant hair.

“We have to get back somehow,” he says. “Sorry, darling.” It’s early, but the Pub’s door is unlocked. Aberforth stands behind the counter, a tall, imposing figure. He expects Harri to shrink back, but she just keeps clutching his hand, head high and eyes curious.

“So, it’s true then?” he asks gruffly. “About you I meant, Black.”

“No,” Sirius sneers, temper clearly rising. Remus swallows, settling his free hand on his shoulder.

“Er, Professor Dumbledore sent us—”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“Right…” Aberforth sighs, gesturing for them to follow them back. There’s a dingy little room there, and unconsciously, Remus tugs Harri closer. There’s a portrait of a girl, who can’t be much older than Harri, smiling genially at them. Harri gives her a wave and the girl lights up, clapping her hands. At this, Aberforth softens.

“Will you take them back, Ari?” he asks. “He’s expecting them.” The girl nods once, holding her hand out. “The wain first.”

“I don’t think so,” Sirius snarls, stepping in front of Harri protectively. She peeks out behind his legs and points to the portrait.

“Where is she going?” Harri asks, and Aberforth regards her with cool eyes.

“Go and find out,” he says. Sirius tries to protest, but Harri steps forward, and suddenly she’s gone. Before either of them can begin, Aberforth simply points. Harri’s in the portrait, retreating back like she’s following a long hallway.

“This is rather advanced,” Remus mutters, studying it closer.

“Well, you can ask him about it,” Aberforth growls. “Go on, I haven’t got all day!” Sirius steps in next and Remus has the presence of mind to thank him before he goes in. It is a long corridor, he realizes, hurrying to catch up. Suddenly he’s falling out, tripping over the frame. He swears softly, hopping to correct himself.

“Ah, Mr. Lupin.” Remus jerks up, finding Dumbledore before him. Sirius has Harri’s hand, clutching like it’s a lifeline. “Right on time.”

“Professor,” he says, inclining his head.

“Let’s take this into my office,” Dumbledore suggests. “Sirius, I’d appreciate if you’d loosen up.”

“Professor, with all due respect, I’m not fond of people poking around in my head,” he says tightly. Occlumency was something Remus could never master, nor James, but Sirius was brilliant about it.

Dumbledore hums softly, leading them to the statues of the Eagles that protect his office. He says the password and the four of them head up. The office is just like Remus remembers it, covered in portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses. Phineas Nigellus snoozes away, tucked in his corner. The first thing Sirius had done was stick a curtain up over him.

“Sirius,” Dumbledore says, a note of distrust in his voice. “How am I possibly to know if you are telling the truth?”

“Professor, perhaps you could just trust me,” Sirius says, a little cold. Dumbledore quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns to Harri.

“Ah, you must be Harriet,” he says, smiling kindly at her. Harri nods.

“Yes, sir,” she says.

“Do prefer Harri?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, Harri, could you tell me how you came to be here? I was under the assumption you’d be with your Aunt and Uncle.”

“Padfoot—er, Sirius is my Godfather, sir,” she explains. “He came to get me and we…”

“Go on,” Dumbledore prods her. There’s a strange look on her face that Remus can’t make out, but it’s entirely familiar.

“Sir,” Harri starts carefully. “Sirius didn’t do anything wrong.” Dumbledore seems surprised, but he nods once.

“Are you happy?” he asks. “Are you treated well?” Privately, Remus thinks he really doesn’t give a shit, considering he left Harri to live with Petunia and her husband, but he forces himself to keep his face calm. If anything, he’s an exceptional liar, good enough to fool even a Legilimens. It’s his one true talent.

“It’s really good, sir,” Harri promises, a smile breaking out on her face. “Padfoot and Moony are the best! They’re teaching me about Hogwarts!”

At that, Dumbledore smiles.

“Would you like to see something interesting?” he asks, walking over and holding a hand out for her. She looks to both him and Sirius, who nod. “Do you know what a phoenix is, Harri?”

Dumbledore leads her away, to a back room and Remus catches Sirius’s eye, shaking his head once. It’s their signal to calm down, though usually, it was James who kept everyone in check while Remus talked them out of detention.

After a moment, Dumbledore returns, sans Harri, and takes a seat at his desk, imploring them to as well.

“I’m failing to understand,” he says plainly.

“Poking around in a seven-year-old’s head isn’t going to do much either,” Sirius all but snarls. Remus kicks him discreetly.

“I understand how you feel about legilimency,” Dumbledore says. “But it won’t harm either of you. How else am I meant to understand?”

“We made an unbreakable vow,” Remus admits. “That’s how I knew he was telling the truth.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t favor that,” Dumbledore says, shaking his head. “There is a certain element of dark magic to it, and an accomplished wizard can manipulate it. Sirius has always been an outstanding wizard.”

“Professor,” Sirius starts, much more controlled. “Please let me explain.”

“Begin.”

“You told James and Lily there was a traitor in the group,” Sirius says. “He was worried about me, about what the traitor would do to get to me. James knew I wouldn’t have betrayed them, but he thought someone might torture me, I dunno. I didn’t… I didn’t know what I’d do under torture, so we came up with a plan. We decided we’d switch secret keepers, so even if I was captured, I wouldn’t be able to say anything.”

“And who was the secret keeper?” Dumbledore asks, frowning thoughtfully.

“Peter… Pettigrew,” Sirius chokes out. “He didn’t go on missions, just ran messages, so we thought… we didn’t know—”

“Sirius,” Dumbledore interrupts softly. “Either you’re telling the truth or putting on the performance of a lifetime, but I need to know for sure.”

“How?” Remus demands. There’s a part of him that wants to wrap Sirius up in his arms, stroke his hair back, and reassure him, but another part wants to lunge across the desk. Remus takes a careful breath. The full moon is in a week, and already he’s feeling the effects.

“Do you know what a penseive is?” he asks. Remus shakes his head but Sirius nods.

“Yes,” he says stiffly. “My grandfather had one.”

“A penseive, Remus, is a device that allows memories to be seen and shared. A memory can be extracted and displayed.” Remus looks at Sirius, who worries his lip.

“I’ll show you,” he says, sounding defeated. “I’ll show you when we switched.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not going to lie, I spent a long time agonizing over what Dumbledore might believe, and I decided on the pensieve. There will be a bit more explanation on it later as it crops up, but look forward to a flashback next chapter. Also, how do you guys feel about the updates from other characters? We’ve got some from the Weasley’s and their friends, and if you have ones you’d like to request, or if you want me to do away with them entirely, let me know! Thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius paces around the small living room, agitated and anxious.  
> “You’re being ridiculous,” James says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s got his glasses dangling precariously in his free hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy the chapter, and hopefully, my allusions make sense!

_Sirius paces around the small living room, agitated and anxious._

_“You’re being ridiculous,” James says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s got his glasses dangling precariously in his free hand._

_“Am I?” he asks tightly. “Moony fucked off—without leaving any word, mind you—to do merlin knows what for merlin knows who—“_

_“Dumbledore,” James nearly growls. “He’s doing a job for Dumbledore.”_

_“Why wouldn’t he tell us?” Sirius shoots back. The third in the room, Peter Pettigrew sat in the corner, twisting his hands together._

_“Moony doesn’t keep secrets from us,” Peter says._

_“Both of you, shut up!” James yells, lurching to his feet. “Moony is not the traitor! I know it!”_

_“Prongs,” Sirius says softly. “Think about Lils and Harri. Is that a chance you’re willing to take?” James breathes hard, eyes going blurry with tears. Angry, he swipes them away, but he slumps defeated. Sirius has dealt a winning blow._

_“We’re telling Moony,” James says acerbically. “As soon as he gets back, we’ll tell him and sort all this out. Then you’ll see he’s not the traitor and the both of you will shut up about traitors.”_

_“Of course, Prongs,” Peter says, hurrying over to him. “I’ll tell him myself about the switch, even. When is he coming back?”_

_“November twelfth,” James says dejectedly. “Let’s get this over with.”_

_Sirius pulls out his wand, waving it in a complicated shape, and suddenly thin, golden lines appear between he and James, binding them together._

_“Peter Pettigrew,” James says dutifully. “I choose you to guard my deepest secret. Only you may divulge it. Swear it shall be yours to keep.”_

_“I swear it,” Peter recites, a note of fear turning his voice squeaky. The line unwinds itself from Sirius’s wrist and moves through the air, latching onto Peter. He hisses as it winds up tight._

_“We shouldn’t tell anyone,” Peter says suddenly, watching the gold line fade. “Just the three of us knowing keeps us safe. Not even Dumbledore.”_

_“But we tell Moony as soon as he gets back,” James adds. Sirius loops an arm around him, shaking his lightly to cheer him._

_“November twelfth,” Peter says. A strange smile blooms on his face._

The memory dissolves and Remus jerks away, reeling. He runs his hands through his hair, surprised that it’s dry. He knows what happened, but seeing it hurts all the same. He can barely look over at Sirius, anger and shame coursing through him. He should have just told them about the wolves. Then James would’ve been able to convince Sirius to wait at least.

God, Peter.

How had he missed all the signs? He’s grown despondent as the war waged on, took longer and longer with his messages. They’d thought he’d just been scared, thought he’d just been the same, sniveling, cowering little child he was when they first met.

“This is your untampered memory?” Dumbledore asks lightly, reminding Remus of his presence. Sirius nods, and Remus forces himself to look. His expression is drawn, tight with that looks like anger. Remus knows it’s guilt.

“You were telling the truth,” Dumbledore murmurs, although it sounds like he’s talking to himself. Remus sits heavily against the wall. They’re in a separate room, having left Harri and the phoenix in the outside chamber.

“It was stupid,” Sirius grits out. “We thought that Peter—“

“It’s alright, Sirius,” Dumbledore says graciously. “Unfortunately, I’ll need one more memory from you.”

“Which one?” Sirius says wearily. Remus wants to shield him, wants to demand what makes Dumbledore think he needs anymore proof.

“Halloween night,” Dumbledore says softly. “Please, I need to make sure—“

“I didn’t kill the muggles,” Sirius finishes for him, tone acidic. “Fine, but Remus doesn’t see this one.”

“What?” Remus angrily demands. “I’m coming—“

“No, you’re not,” Sirius says. “This one… is hard. I…”

“Please, Remus,” Dumbledore says. “At the very least, Harri will need some company.”

“Just go,” Sirius says, sounding utterly defeated. “This one will… this one will prove it.”

Scowling, Remus stalks off. He knows what happened in this one, and he knows what Sirius is doing, trying to shield him from both Sirius and Peter’s worst moments. He finds Harri with the phoenix, stretched up on her tiptoes to try and pet him.

“Did you ask?” Remus says, startling her a little. Harri jumps, dropping her arm like a naughty child caught.

“The Headmaster was with you,” Harri says, sheepish. Remus chuckles.

“I meant the phoenix.”

“I did,” she says excitedly. “And it bowed to me!”

“Dumbledore’s had him for a while,” Remus says, coming to stand next to her. “Since I was in school.”

“How many years ago was that?” she asks.

“About ten,” he says. He thinks about Peter, the small boy he, James, and Sirius had saved from merciless fourth year Slytherins. He thinks about the man who’d smiled at James and Sirius, knowing that his plan to betray his oldest friend was coming to fruition.

“What did you do in that room?” Harri asks, voice dropping.

“We proved it,” Remus says, suddenly exhausted. “We proved his innocence to Dumbledore at least.”

“Why hasn’t Padfoot come out yet?”

“He has to show him one more thing, and then Dumbledore will help us, I believe.” Just then, Dumbledore strides out of the room, followed by a particularly angry Sirius.

“Professor?” Remus asks cautiously.

“Forgive me,” Dumbledore says simply. “I did not think that… my trust in you, and your bond with James Potter, wasn’t enough. I should have fought for you, Sirius. That is one of my greatest regrets.”

“Will you help us now?” Sirius asks.

“It will be difficult, I think,” Dumbledore says, gesturing for them to sit in front of his desk. Harri scrambles up on Sirius’s lap and he clutches her tight, like she grounds him. “The Wizengamet have forbidden a great many things in their court, but with the right Legisparitus—“

“Magical barrister,” Sirius translates quietly to Harri.

“Yes, with the right representation, we could get these memories verified, and your wand examined,” Dumbledore muses. “I might have the right man for you, but I will have to speak to him.”

“So what now, professor?”

“For now, return to where you’ve been and wait for my owl,” Dumbledore says. “I know it’s dreadful to wait, but you only have to be patient a little longer.”

“You’ll be rather busy won’t you, professor,” Sirius says quietly. “The school year starts tomorrow.”

“I will make time for this, Sirius, I swear to you,” he says resolutely. “I promise you will be free.”

\--

Draco Malfoy wakes to a soft knock on his door. He’d been having a good dream, something about going flying, so when he lifts his head, Dobby recoils back.

“Master Draco, your mother is requesting you for breakfast.” He groans, flopping back against the sheets, but Dobby stands at the door, waiting for him to move so he can clean. Still, it fills him with a sense of importance when Dobby calls him “Master Draco” instead of “Young Master”. It reminds him he is not a child anymore.

Draco pulls himself out of bed and heads to the bathroom to get ready. As a young man, he does not request help fastening his clothes on, no matter how the buckles trouble. Mother will just have to wait, he thinks, now that he is too big to be put over father’s knee.

“Master Draco,” Dobby says hesitantly. “Can Dobby assist you?”

“No!” He wrestles a buckle into place and scrutinizes it carefully. Finally! “I’m ready.” When he exits the room, it is flawlessly cleaned, but Draco still gives Dobby that look Father has perfected and says, “Clean up around here for once.”

Downstairs, mother is sitting at the table with a bowl on untouched porridge in front of her. She’s reading the newspaper, and whatever is on it must make her very upset. Her mouth is pinched up, but when she sees Draco, she softens, holding her arms out for him.

Mother holds him surprisingly tight, pressing one kiss too many to his face. He’s not a child anymore and he mustn’t be coddled. Still, even grown sons must accommodate their mothers. Grandmother is over very often, and father obliges her every whim.

Thankfully, she pulls back and smooths his hair out of his face. Mother presses her thumbs to his cheekbones gently, scrutinizing him carefully, and suddenly, Draco is afraid. Something particularly unpleasant is about to happen.

“Mother,” he says, trying to appease whatever it is. “Good morning.” This must be the right thing to say because she releases him with one final stoke of his cheek and allows him to take his seat. Thank Merlin father wasn’t around to see such a display.

“Draco,” Mother starts, taking a careful sip of what must be cold tea. “You must promise to behave today, do you understand?”

“Are we going to have guests? Are Crabbe and Goyle coming over?” he asks, trying not to let his excitement show. He doesn’t need playmates, of course, he’s too old for that, but associate—like his father has—are always welcome.

“Not today,” Mother sighs. A cold feeling slips down Draco’s spine and he holds himself very still.

“Are we…” he swallows, trying to master himself. “Are we going to see… her?”

Father finally appears, cutting to the conversation short. He gives his wife a perfunctory kiss and pats Draco’s head before he sits.

“Will you come with us, Lucius?” Mother asks nervously. Father doesn’t waver, instead snapping open the paper. Sirius Black’s face is plastered all over the front and he flinches away. Draco’s not scared of the mad man, but he’d be stupid to not be wary of a child stealing freak.

“Lucius!” Mother presses, almost frantic.

“You’ll go with Draco,” he says finally. “Speak to her about… what we spoke about yesterday.”

“I told you I didn’t want any part in it!” At this, Father slams down the paper and Draco shrinks in his head, heart racing. Mother holds firm, and to Draco’s shock, her eyes well up with tears. “I didn’t say anything when you joined, but now that he’s gone—“

“Enough, Narcissa!” Mother goes deathly still and Father flounders, coloring slightly. Draco presses himself closer to the chair.

“You presume, because you are my husband that you can tell me what to do—“

“Cissy, of course I wouldn’t—“

“Do not call me that and do not interrupt. I will go today, because you are clearly a coward!” With that Mother stalks out of the dining room. Father, still red faced, retreats behind the paper. Draco pushes away his breakfast, suddenly not hungry.

\--

Sirius is exhausted, but he still needs to speak to Remus. When they get back to Grimmauld Place, Remus takes Harri back to the library, for a lesson on history. Sirius hangs around, waiting for him to be finished.

Lunch is quiet and decidedly uncomfortable, and Harri looks between them, sensing the discomfort. After, Harri’s sent to go write another essay, and she is particularly unhappy about it. Sour faced, Harri stomps off to go write her essay and before Remus can find some task to occupy himself, Sirius corners him.

“So, what, you’re just not going to talk to me?” he asks.

“What’s to discuss?” Remus asks. “You didn’t want to me to see—“

“You wanted to watch Wormtail blow up thirteen muggles, is that it?” Sirius snarls, suddenly angry. “It wasn’t something I wanted to watch ever—“

“Sirius, of course not,” Remus says. “You don’t have to spare me. That’s what I was trying to tell you. You’re my best mate, and you’re all there is left, I can’t—“ Suddenly Remus goes pink and silent, glaring down at his feet. “I’m sorry you had to watch that back. That’s not something you deserved, now or the first time.”

Sirius doesn’t quite know what to say to that and he can feel himself getting red-faced too. Remus clears his throat, look at him finally.

“We’re mates, yeah,” he says, a bit awkward. “You don’t have to go it alone. Not for anything, not anymore.”

“I was wrong,” Sirius blurts out suddenly. “I shouldn’t have asked James to switch, not to Peter anyways. I don’t know why I didn’t trust you, but I’m sorry. It… it’s my biggest mistake.”

“Sirius,” Remus starts. “That autumn… I was scouting other werewolves, trying to convince them not to join you-know-who. I didn’t want you or Prongs to know because… I dunno—“

“You don’t have to explain it,” Sirius promises. “I trust you. I’ll always trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : Hopefully it’s clear as to who Draco and his mom were supposed to visit! As for the why? We’ll get into that later. Let me know what you thought!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa Malfoy clutches her son’s hand tight as she makes her way to the portkey station. Draco is whining, about the heat, about the visit, everything, and it is starting to build to a headache. He really does take after Lucius that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, gang, sorry about the lateness, but there are some crucial plot points in this chapter that I really struggled to work in seamlessly. Either way, hope you guys enjoy!

Narcissa Malfoy clutches her son’s hand tight as she makes her way to the portkey station. Draco is whining, about the heat, about the visit, everything, and it is starting to build to a headache. He really does take after Lucius that way.

“We are here to see Bellatrix Lestrange,” she tells the wizard at the desk. The small Azkaban mainland office is stuffy, the heat even more oppressive inside than out. “I arranged a visit.”

“Mrs. Malfoy!” The wizard realizes. “Er, right. If you’d just follow me, it’ll be leaving in a mo’.”

“Fine,” she says sourly, pulling Draco closer.

“Mummy,” he says softly, and promptly Narcissa’s heart breaks. She hasn’t been called that all summer, ever since Lucius had decided Draco was too old to do so. “I don’t want to see Aunty Bella.”

“Behave, Draco,” she whispers. “You must be a very good boy.”

“I don’t like going,” he says, squirming away as the portkey begins to glow. Narcissa sighs, hauling Draco up onto her hip. She grunts quietly under the weight but says nothing. Her son will never be a burden to her.

“Er, hands on please,” the wizard says, offering the portkey—an empty ink bottle. Draco clings tight, burying his face in her neck. It is a testament to his fear that he doesn’t whine about the indignation of being held.

The trip is brief, but portkey’s have never agreed with her. She sways for a second, trying to find her balance before letting Draco down. He clings to her skirts, watching the dementors fly past. The wizard busies himself with conjuring up a patronus. After a few aborted tries, Narcissa hisses at him to stop.

“Expecto patronum!” The memory she conjures is fairly recent, just two years ago. She’d been sitting in the garden, watching Draco play with the new toy broomstick he’d gotten. He’d slipped off the end a few times but he hadn’t cried once, instead clambering right back on with a fierce determination.

“Mummy! Are you watching? I’m doing it!” He’d called out after successfully mounting the broomstick. It only rose a scant two feet, just enough for Draco’s feet to skim through the grass, but it excited him to no end. She watched as his face went rosy with pleasure.

Lucius had come out then, having heard the commotion, and to Narcissa’s surprise, he’d beamed at Draco, swinging him up off the broomstick and up onto his shoulders.

“What a clever boy!”

The warmth of the memory flows through her, through her magic, and through her wand, resulting in a perfect raven. It flies on ahead, driving the dementors back.

“Thanks,” the wizard says. Narcissa’s lip curl. Probably a mudblood. Can’t even do the spell correctly. She clutches Draco closer.

“Er, you can speak to her outside her cell—”

“We’ll speak to her in the back office,” she says, pouring ice over her words. People of lesser status seemed to fall into line more easily like that.

“Er, Mrs. Malfoy—”

“Do as I say,” Narcissa says coldly. “Bring Bella to me.” She leads Draco on ahead, letting him cling as closely as he pleased. The back office has been out of use for a while, but after her blood-traitor of a cousin escaped, they’ve been using it again.

Narcissa sits at the table, pulling Draco up into her lap. She smooths his hair back, trying to make his look more presentable. His hair is whiter—like Lucius—rather than silvery, like hers. Narcissa sighs; Bella hates anything to do with Lucius, even though Narcissa chose him herself.

“Cissy!” Bella looks truly awful, gaunt and pale in a way that makes her eyes bug out. Her hair is a tangle of black curls, and when she smiles, Narcissa’s can’t help but wrinkle her nose at the rotting teeth.

“Bella,” she sighs, gently setting Draco down and hurrying over to sweep Bella into her arms. She hugs her sister hard, like she could force the life back into her. “Have you heard?”

“About dear, old Sirius?” Bella cackles. “Foolish! He’s a blood traitor. The dark lord would never take scum like that.”

“He’s taken the girl,” Narcissa says, a bit more urgently. “You said there was a contingency. Something to do with the girl.”

“I need out of here before I can—Draco!” Draco shrinks back from his Aunt’s gaze, but he takes a deep breath and makes his way over.

“Hello, Aunty Bella,” he says politely. “How are you?” Bella scoffs, grabbing Draco’s chin roughly. Narcissa scowls, ready to intervene, but Bella releases him with a sigh.

“You look more and more like your father everyday. Good for nothing but his looks and money,” Bella says nastily.

“The contingency, Bella?” Narcissa says pointedly, offering her a seat. Bella drops heavily into the seat.

“Yes,” she says. “We need to talk.”

\--

It’s been three awful days, and Sirius is nearly sick with worry. Remus busies himself with teaching Harri, keeping her as occupied as he can. He’d asked Sirius to start teaching her latin, but he couldn’t.

Harri watches him with concerned eyes, scrutinizing his every moves. It’s something James would’ve done, although James would have confronted Sirius about it. Harri simply waits for him to talk about it. That, he has to attribute to Lily.

On the fourth day, Sirius picks at his breakfast, mostly watching the kitchen window. To his surprise, a large tawny owl flies towards them, and Sirius nearly unseats Harri in his haste to get to the window to let it in.

The owl hoot indignantly as Sirius plucks the letter off it’s foot, but Remus is there to smooth ruffled feathers and get the owl something to drink and a treat.

_Sirius,_

_It took some time to find someone willing to listen, but I found a Legisparitus willing to represent you. His name is Geoffrey Abbott. He is extremely accomplished and has agreed to take the case. You may remember him, he was a fifth year Hufflepuff when you were a first year. He’s asked to meet to starting building your case. Please be at the Hogshead Pub at 3 pm tomorrow, where we will all meet to discuss._

_Do not lose faith._

_Albus_

Sirius sighs, settling back weakly in his chair. Harri and Remus exchange worried looks, so he hands the letter to Remus, who reads it aloud at Harri’s insistence.

“Well,” Remus says. “This is good news, right?”

“I… yeah, it is,” Sirius says. There’s a heavy pit in his stomach, a tight ache that makes him distrustful. “Do you remember this Geoffrey bloke, then?”

“Can’t say I do, but he was a Hufflepuff, so there’s that, at least,” Remus says. He sets a comforting hand on the back of Sirius’s neck, just above his shoulder blades, his fingers brushing through the mangy locks.

“We’ll be alright, now, won’t we?” Harri asks. “This man is going to help us, right?”

“Course he is,” Remus assures her. Sirius forces himself to smile, to ruffle her hair a bit, but she sees through him effortlessly, her small features pinching up in uncharacteristic anger.

“I’m not going to let anyone take you!” she declares.

“I know, love,” Sirius says softly. Loyalty was James’ fatal flaw, he won’t let it be Harri’s as well. “Suppose I ought to brush a bit on laws. There’s a book somewhere in the library.”

“Come on, Harri, let’s get back to our lessons,” Remus says.

“Oh, but I hate maths, Moony,” she whines, slumping in her seat. He laughs, holding a hand out for her. She takes it limply.

“It’ll be very important if you ever take arithmancy,” Remus explains. “Come on.”

The rest of the day is spent in the library, where Remus keeps Harri as occupied as he can. Sirius digs out the old volumes on wizarding laws, flipping through it as calmly as he can manage. It sort of reminds him of being in school again, cooped up in the library, cramming for exams that only Remus seemed to actually study for.

There are whole sections as to what the Wizengamot finds as permissible evidence, and Sirius balks to find legilimency completely impermissible. Apparently even the strongest legilimens is powerless a particularly good occlumens, which, admittedly Sirius is. It’s one of the Black family talents he had instilled in his head from a very young age.

They take lunch in the library, but Kreacher absolutely refuses to serve dinner there as well. In the end, it’s Harri that convinces them, begging off her pretend schoolwork. Sirius scrutinizes her carefully. She’s looking a bit pale, actually, and a little thin, despite the way she eats her weight at almost every meal.

He realizes with a start that it’s the house. The house will always be an awful, dark place no matter how much love he and Remus pour into it. Poor Harri hasn’t seen actual sunshine in weeks now.

She doesn’t ever complain, but Sirius can recall watching her sit as close to the windows as possible, pressing her tiny face against the warm panes to try and soak in the sun. He says a silent prayer—to whom, he has no idea—that if anything should come of this trial business, it should be Harri’s freedom.

Sirius looks over the table to Remus, who’s helping Harri cut up her meat. Remus deserves freedom too. He deserves to go out without watching over his shoulder, without worrying about him.

“Shall we try and look for that old chess set?” Sirius offers, plastering on a smile. He has to try, for them at least, to be optimistic. No sense in worrying them. “After dinner.”

“I thought we already looked everywhere,” Harri says, though she does brighten at the prospect of a game night.

“What’s the harm in checking again,” Sirius says brightly. “If we can’t find it, then Harri, you can kick our sorry arses at gobstones.” She laughs at that, a bright, happy sound that for a moment, presses back against the mounting dread.

“Deal!” she agrees, shoveling the rest of her food to finish faster. Predictably, they can’t find the chess set—Sirius assumes it’s in Reg’s room, but he just hasn’t had the heart to go in there. Gobstones is actually alright for once, even though he knows both Harri and Remus are letting him win. After a few rounds Remus cuts the game short.

“Alright,” he says, wrinkling his nose at Sirius and Harri. “We’re all due for baths.”

Harri frowns reproachfully at the idea, but concedes, helping to pack away the game. The three of them troop upstairs, all finding different bathrooms to wash away the hardening puss from the game.

After, Sirius stops by Harri’s room, where she’s running a comb through her wet curls, dressed in an old sweater of Moony’s. Sirius presses a kiss to the top of her head, helping her into bed. He draws the duvet up to her chin, smoothing back her hair.

“We’ll be alright, Padfoot,” she says sleepily. “Mum and Dad are looking after us, too.” Sirius’s throat closes a little, and he swallows hard to clear it.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “We’ll be alright.” Harri drifts off to sleep, and for a while, Sirius just watches. When his anxiety won’t wane, he shifts into Padfoot and settles at the foot of her bed, listening to the even rise and fall of her breath.

\--

Remus doesn’t get a wink of sleep all night, instead tossing and turning in bed. He finally pulls himself up and out when the sun rises, stumbling through getting ready. To his surprise, Sirius is already downstairs, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Alright?” he asks softly.

“Fine,” Sirius says tightly. “I’ll go get Harri up.” As soon as he says it, they can hear little footsteps pattering around upstairs. Sirius sighs, gulping down the rest of his coffee.

“You ought to eat something, mate,” Remus suggests gently. “Toast?”

Sirius shrugs, but takes some when Remus plates it for him. He pours himself a cup of tea—Merlin knows Kreacher won’t do it for him—and joins him, waiting for Harri.

Breakfast is quick and nearly silent, as no one really has much to say. They load up and disapperate on the stoop, Harri on his back and Padfoot in his arms. It’s not exactly an ideal situation, but it will do. Padfoot leaps down to change back, and Sirius runs a nervous hand through his hair.

The Hogshead is closed, but Aberforth ushers them in, scowling at the sight of them. At one of the furthest tables sits Dumbledore and a slight, thin man, presumably Geoffrey Abbott. He jumps up to stand, a nervous smile on his face.

“Geoffrey Abbott,” he introduces himself, shaking everyone’s hands, even Harri. “Er, about Ms. Potter…”

“We couldn’t exactly find a sitter,” Sirius remarks, a bit rude. Remus discreetly stamps on his foot to get him to behave. “Sorry.”

“Quite alright,” Abbott says, his smile going wry. “I’ve a daughter her age as well. I know that little girls like to stick close to their fathers.” That earns a smile from both Harri and Sirius, who takes her hand.

“Right! First off, Mr. Black, I want to say that I believe in your innocence,” Abbott says. “Good Gryffindor’s who are training to be auror’s do not up and join their enemies.”

“Did, er, did you know me?” Sirius asks, sounding a bit nervous. Remus thinks hard, trying desperately to remember if he’d ever met Abbott before.

“Found you and your mates out of dorms at nearly one in the morning, armed with dungbombs my fifth year,” Abbott says with a laugh. “It was the first time I’d ever assigned a detention.”

Remus snorts, the memory hurrying back to him. Abbott had been nervous in his role of authority just as Remus had been nervous in his role of silvertongue. Dumbledore smiles, shaking his head.

“Geoffrey is a good man, Sirius,” he says. “He’s an exceptionally talented Legisparitus as well. In fact, I believe you’d said there was already a plan.”

Abbott grimaces, and pulls out sever rolls of parchment from his bag.

“Right, Headmaster,” he says. “Er, I’ve been reviewing the evidence and I believe I’ve got a plan, but I’m not very sure you’re going to like the first part very much.”

\--

Neville Longbottom has had enough of his Gran’s siblings’ constant visits. None of them like him very much, and they always poke fun at his weight, his chubby cheeks, and his decided lack of magic. Gran doesn’t even defend him.

Currently, he’s pouting at the breakfast table, wrapped up in several towels and blankets while Gran fetches him tea to warn him up. Her brother Algie—Neville’s least favorite uncle—had chucked him off Blackpool pier, yelling at Neville to save himself.

In the end, when it was apparent to them that Neville was indeed drowning, he’d been saved by a very disgruntled Gran.

“Can I have the crossword, Gran,” he asks, sneaking one hand out of his veritable cocoon of blankets. Gran sighs but slides an ink pot and quill his way. She goes off to grab the paper. Tuesday editions are always great crossword, usually plant themed. Neville’s been reading some very interesting books about plants recently.

Suddenly, Gran gasps, dropping Neville’s tea.

“What?” he asks, suddenly frightened. “What happened, Gran?” She doesn’t say anything but unfurls the front page of the paper out for him. Neville grimaces at the sight of that scary, old Black fellow. Above the picture of his screaming face reads the headline:

SIRIUS BLACK, NOTORIUS MURDERER AND KIDNAPPER, FINALLY APPREHENDED.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, things aren’t looking too ideal, but don’t worry, there is a plan! Let me know what you thought!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harri misses Padfoot a lot. It’s been eleven days since he left with that Legisparitus, and they couldn’t even go home after. Moony took her to his flat after, making a bed for her on the couch. He tries very hard to keep her busy, reading with her, coloring, even teaching her how to play chess. It’s not wizard’s chess, just muggle, and that thought makes her sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, long time, no see, huh? Sorry about the wait, but life does get in the way. On a good note: I got into grad school! Of course, that does mean updates are going to be a bit more sporadic, but that doesn’t mean they won’t happen. I will be seeing this through, no one worry! With that, enjoy!

Harri misses Padfoot a lot. It’s been eleven days since he left with that Legisparitus, and they couldn’t even go home after. Moony took her to his flat after, making a bed for her on the couch. He tries very hard to keep her busy, reading with her, coloring, even teaching her how to play chess. It’s not wizard’s chess, just muggle, and that thought makes her sad.

Moony sends letters to the Legisparitus and the headmaster the whole times, owls flying in and out of the window he keeps open. Sometimes, he’ll let her write little messages as well, always folding the parchment so Harri can’t see what he’s written. Those letters go to Padfoot, and he’s very curious to know what he’ll receive. Still, Harri tries not to complain, or ask too many questions, but she can see the worry plain on Moony’s face.

He makes dozens of cups of tea a day and doesn’t drink them, stirring and stirring while he waits. Harri cleans up after him best she can, but that makes him feel worse, she can tell. She doesn’t like putting both guilt and worry on his face.

This pattern goes on and on for days until finally there’s real news. Harri can tell by the way Moony paces, gnawing on his bottom lip with such a ferocity it bleeds. He keeps these letters in his room, tucked away in the desk, so Harri can’t read them. It means it’s bad news, something that Harri shouldn’t read.

She’s tried to open the drawer, but she can’t get it open. Moony probably magicked it shut. Finally, after dinner, Moony takes the letters out of the drawer and sits with her on the sofa.

“What do the letters say?” Harri asks. She knows better to grab them from his hands, but she can’t help but wanting to. She sits on her hands instead.

“Some are from Padfoot, but they’re not…” Moony looks at the letter, all folded up neatly. “Maybe we shouldn’t read them. He’s alright, love, and he misses you.”

“Can we write a letter to him?” Harri asks, perhaps a touch desperately. “We can give it to the Legisparitus to give to him.”

“Of course, love,” he says, surprised. “I’ve been… distant, I know, and I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” she says easily, but Moony shakes his head.

“It’s not,” he insists. Harri ducks her head, embarrassed. That’s one thing she’s never been able to figure out, why Padfoot and Moony keep apologizing. They’re the best people in the world, but they apologize like they’re the worst.

“Harri, sweetheart, you’re the top priority—”

“Padfoot should be,” she says, adamant. “Padfoot’s in trouble right now, so you can’t worry about me.”

“It’s my job to worry about you both,” he mutters, racking a hand through his hair. “Listen, the Headmaster and Abbott wrote us another letter. We’re getting a trial in front of the Wizengamot.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means that Abbott will help Padfoot explain everything that’s happened, and then the Wizengamot—they’re like a council—will decide to set him free or not,” he explains. Harri looks at her hands, twisting her fingers together.

“What’s happened exactly?” she asks, though she does know some of it. She could hear them talking sometimes, about Wormtail. She doesn’t know who that is, but it’s the person who should be punished for whatever they think Padfoot did.

“That… look, love, don’t worry about it,” Moony tells her, but he won’t look at her. He’s fussing with her hair again, leaving it sticking up in all direction.

“Do they think Padfoot’s got something to do with my parents being gone?” Harri asks. She draws her feet up, hugging her knees tight. Suddenly, Moony pulls her up in her arms, squeezing tight, rocking her back and forth.

“Merlin!” he gasps. “I’m so sorry, love, we were supposed to—”

“They _are_ gone, but it wasn’t him” she says. It hurts that her mum and dad are gone, but she has Padfoot and Moony now. “We have to save Padfoot, so you have to tell me what happened.”

“Sweetheart,” Moony says after a moment, voice going flat. “We made a mistake. We trusted the wrong person, and your parents—”

“It was Wormtail, wasn’t it? Mum and Dad trusted him and he let them down,” Harri surmises. That makes her even sadder, that friends could hurt friends like that.

“We all did,” Moony mutters. “Right. You’re not old enough to hear this. Can’t even imagine what Prongs would think.”

Harri sighs. It makes her quite cross that no one will tell her what happened with Wormtail, but she knows better than to ask questions, especially when they bring up her mum and dad.

“Can we write the letter now?” she asks. Moony looks grateful for the distraction, going off to fetch a fresh roll of parchment and a quill. Harri writes carefully—she’s still not very good with the quill yet—summarizing everything that Padfoot’s missed, all the games, all the books, all of Moony’s unhealthy, indulgent dinners.

Moony smiles, sad and tired, when he reads what she’s written, only crossing out a few words that are misspelled before he writes his own message. It’s much shorter than hers, but she thinks he feels the same way.

*

Minerva McGonagall is a very busy woman. She has ten NEWT students this year, and thirty-seven fifth years she’s trying to get through their OWLS. Yet, instead of working on her lesson plans—and finding an advanced enough workbook for a few of her Ravenclaws—she is running errands to help a trial she doesn’t even believe in.

The news that Sirius Black had betrayed the Potters had shaken her to her very core. She thought she knew Sirius, knew him almost as well as a mother could know their own child, the amount of times he was in her office.

The news that Sirius Black has _not_ betrayed the Potters had shaken her too. She is filled with guilt, anger, and disbelief so heavy, she tried to instigate a row with Albus, of all people. It had taken her years to come to terms with the idea of an evil Sirius, and she suspects it will take her many more to come to terms with the idea that their own government is so broken that they couldn’t even see that Sirius was innocent.

The second Saturday of term finds her in Little Whinging, stalking down the street to Number Four, Privet Drive. The sun is low in the sky, casting everything in an orange haze. She knocks on the door twice, two sharp raps that leave her knuckles stinging.

_Control your anger, Minerva,_ she thinks.

The door swings and she finds herself face to face with a small, round child. He looks up at her with naked befuddlement, then pitches his head back to scream for his mother. Petunia Dursley is just the same as Minerva remembers her, made entirely of narrow angles. She has no idea how anyone could find comfort in this woman.

“Who are you?” she asks suspiciously. “Are you one of… _his_ people?” By his, Minerva can only imagine that she means Albus.

“I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts—”

“Come inside!” Petunia hisses, gesturing wildly. To Minerva’s absolute indignation, she is pulled into the house abruptly. Part of her hisses at the atrocity, wanting to rip into Petunia, but she holds her tongue, taking her time to readjust her robes.

“What do you want?” Petunia asks, throwing a nervous glance to the sitting room windows. “Diddy, go on upstairs, love.” The child starts to protest, but Petunia gives him a hearty shove, sending him toddling over to the stairs.

“I need to inform you of the on-going trial that your niece is a part of,” Minerva says curtly.

“What’s she done?” Petunia asks, scowling.

“She hasn’t done anything,” Minerva says, a little astonished. The child is only seven years old, after all. “Earlier this summer, she was abducted by escaped murderer—excuse me, alleged murderer—Sirius Black.”

Petunia balks at this, blinking stupidly at her. Minerva sighs, producing a letter.

“This is a summons from the Wizengamot, asking you to stand and give your testimony,” she explains. “I am here to observe your oath of absolute secrecy.” The statute of secrecy had some loopholes on muggles giving testimony in court, and Geoffrey Abbott is planning to exploit them all. Minerva doesn’t know whether to be impressed or appalled. Hufflepuff loyalty to a fault, she supposes.

“What testimony?” Petunia asks.

“You are to give your account on what happened when Harriet was taken,” Minerva says. “Explain to them why you let her go without alerting any authority.”

“He was her godfather,” Petunia argues. “My sister always prattled on and on about her freaky little friends and he was one of them. Better they raise her than us.”

“There was nothing malicious about him?” She’s not supposed to ask additional questions, just deliver the summons and take the oath, but she can’t contain her curiosity.

“Dreadfully unkempt,” Petunia sniffs. “The state of his hair!”

“That’s all?” she presses.

“Yes,” Petunia says testily. “I won’t go, you know. I want nothing to do with your kind.”

Minerva looks at her for a long moment, thinking back to Lily. How could they be related? Lily Evans had been a bright, kind, compassionate young lady, who wouldn’t hesitate to step up and offer her assistance, any way she could.

“Then you’d be forsaking an innocent man to imprisonment.” As she says the words, she knows them to be absolutely true. It doesn’t matter which way her faith is shaken; she must press on for even the tiniest sliver of hope that Sirius is innocent. Petunia pales and starts fidgeting as though someone has lit hot coals under her feet.

“I… I wouldn’t know where to go,” Petunia says. Minerva resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Someone will, of course, come to collect you.”

“What would I even say?” Petunia whispers. Minerva sighs, softening slightly.

“If I may suggest, Mrs. Dursley, the truth?” Petunia goes pink, her scowl coming back in full force.

“Fine,” she says sharply. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“You’ll have to take an oath, to ensure secrecy,” Minerva says, producing her wand. Petunia gives it a weary look.

“Oh, best believe I will never speak a word of this to anyone,” Petunia, sneering like it’s an insult. Still, she holds her hand out.

“Petunia Dursley, do you swear to keep what you know about magic a secret, absolute and unchanging?”

“I swear.”

Thin blue lines wind around Petunia’s wrists and neck, and she stands stock-still, frozen in terror until they disappear.

“The letter has all the information you need to know,” Minerva tells her. She turns to go, pausing for a moment to look back at Petunia. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Now, it’s high time that she did the same.

*

Azkaban doesn’t change, and Sirius thinks it never will. It is still dreadfully cold, an icy sort of chill that seeps into his bones despite the September warmth. In a stroke of cruelty, he is put right back into his old cage.

Thankfully, Abbott comes round nearly daily, bearing scrolls and scrolls of legal plans. They’re in the back office often, and while Sirius enjoys the opportunity to stretch his legs and get some goddamn air, he hates passing by the other cells.

All they do is remind of what could’ve happened to him, what still could happen to him. Panic turns to fear as he thinks about Harri, and how Moony will have to explain why he won’t be back. Every he thinks about that, anger and dread rage through him as he contemplates where Harri will be sent.

Phillip Hotchkiss raps on one the bars of his cell, jolting him from his reverie.

“Er, Mr. Black, the Legisparitus is here,” he says. Sirius snorts; he can’t quite wrap his head around anyone calling him “Mr. Black” but he supposes that’s him now.

“Right you are, Philly,” he says, clambering up to his feet. “After you.”

He walks the familiar path to the back office, keeping his eyes front. Some of the prisoners recognize him and scream out of name, or just scream, slamming themselves against the bars. Sometimes, they throw themselves with too much vigor and Hotchkiss has to stay behind and stun them into unconsciousness to heal them.

Abbott’s waiting for him in the back office, the small table already covered in parchment.

“Ah, Sirius,” he says, gesturing for him to take a seat. “Alright?”

“Suppose,” he responds, eyeing the stack. “Right, we before we get into it, I have two things for you.”

He’s handed two letters, and judging by Abbott’s smile, one of them is from Harri. He spies her handwriting immediately, just as abysmal as James’ was, though she does some letters like Lily. Inexplicable.

The second one, surprisingly enough is from Professor McGonagall. He balks a little at what it might say and shoves straight away in his pocket. He’ll read it if he’s in the mood for the lecture that is sure to be there.

He rips into Harri’s letter, though, too impatient to wait.

_Dear Padfoot,_

_Hope you are doing alright. We miss you a lot! It’s a bit boring without you, and sometimes Moony and I are both sad. We hope that you are alright and not sad. Moony says that the ~~Leguspartis~~_ _Legisparitus will get you home soon. Hopefully the council will understand it was a mistake and they will ~~apolgise~~ apologize. I learned to play chess, but it is just regular chess. Moon says that he likes this better because the pieces do not yell at him. I would like to play wizards chess, but I don’t want to be yelled at! Moony and I have finished that book about the wardrobe. It was really cool! They had to fight an evil witch, but then Father Christmas and a magic lion helped them win. We’re reading another book about the same place, but it is about different children. Moony says we’re reading them out of order a bit, but I don’t mind. I miss Kreacher a lot, ~~espeshally~~ especially his French onion soup. It’s alright, though, because Moony gets take-away sometimes. We ate some Indian food (moony says Dad and my gran are from there) and I liked the curry a lot! And the bread. When you get back, we shall have some more, a whole feast. _

_Love you loads!_

_Harri_

_P.S. I am passing the letter to Moony now._

_ Pads, _

_ Keep the faith. You’ll get out because you’re innocent, and if not, we’ll do a runner and fuck off to America. Apparently, the schools there are just fine—no Hogwarts of course—but we’ll train Harri up ourselves.  _

_ Don’t do anything stupid. _

_ Moony _

Sirius swallows back the sudden lump in his throat, blinking fast to appease the sudden stinging in the back of his eyes. Things must be getting dire in the kitchen if Harri misses Kreacher. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. Abbott shoots him a smile and at once, Sirius goes pink.

“Er, just the usual,” he mutters, waving the letter before stuffing it into his pocket to reread letter. Harri, and mostly Moony, have sent a few others and rereading them over and over again is the only that keeps the dementors away.

“I’d go mad without my little Hannah,” Abbott offers up. “We should introduce our girls, they’d be fast friends.”

“Right,” Sirius snorts. “Shall we have the playdates here or at yours?”

“Sirius, I do have a plan,” Abbott reminds him, a touch more sober. “The first trial is about your Death Eater charge. That one will be the easier one of them. The other two are about Harri’s alleged abductions, and then the thirteen muggles. That last one will be tricky, but we’ll just focus on them one at a time, yeah?”

“Right,” Sirius says. “What’s the plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, time for the trials! Working through the first draft of the next chapter, so hopefully that will be on your screens soon. Tell me what you thought, any criticism you have, any thoughts. Till next time!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning of the trial, Sirius is woken to Abbott tapping on the bars of the cell, his Labrador Retriever Patronus standing guard behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Trying to get back into the swing of posting again! Get ready for the first trial.

The morning of the trial, Sirius is woken to Abbott tapping on the bars of the cell, his Labrador Retriever Patronus standing guard behind him. 

“I’ll, er, give you a moment,” he says, taking in the mess of letters Sirius fell asleep in last night. He’d finally opened McGonagall’s letter and to his utter surprise, it wasn’t a lecture, but an apology. Succinct but meaningful, it had prompted him to read every letter he’d saved up. 

Hope had coursed through him, pure and protective, and he’d actually fallen asleep warm that night. 

“Right, yeah, sorry,” Sirius mumbles scrambling up and pocketing all the letters. The door to the cell swings open and Sirius hurries out, as if it might change its mind. 

“Shall we, then?”

“Let’s.”

They take the portkey back to the processing office, where Abbot takes Sirius’s wand, sealing it away in a long, thin, silver box. From there, they’re allowed to apparate straight to the Ministry, to a holding room. 

Apparition is always worse when someone else does it, and while Abbot tries to be gentle, it still feels like Sirius is being suffocated. He stumbles back when they arrive, coughing a little. Actually, this might be easier as Padfoot, but it’s probably best not to do that. 

“Shall we go over the plan once more?” Abbott asks, but Sirius can tell it’s more for him that anyone else. This is, after all, Abbott’s first Azkaban trial. Apparently, before this, he worked in magical misdemeanors and the exposure department. 

“Talk me through it,” Sirius says. 

“Right, well, our opening statement is a brief account of your life, you house, your time at Hogwarts, and what you did after. At that time, we enter your plea as not guilty.”

“Understood.”

“Then the prosecution will give their opening statement, and whatever they say, you mustn’t show any emotion.”

“Right,” Sirius mutters. That’s going to be a bit difficult. He’s always been impulsive and a bit proud, and without Prongs or Moony to keep him in check, he’s a little worried.

“Then we go with our character witnesses, and our first piece of evidence, the lack of a mark.” It wasn’t the strongest piece of evidence they had, but the Wizengamot took precious little evidence into court. Only real, tangible pieces of evidence that could not be tampered with, and magic as dark and insidious as the Dark Mark cannot truly be hidden.

“Our next bit of evidence is your Auror training records, along with peer and instructor evaluations from James Potter and Frank Longbottom. You cannot—this is very important, now—react at all if the prosecution decides to throw around James and Lily Potter’s names.”

“Right, won’t react, got that,” Sirius assures him, a bit annoyed. 

“Finally, we’ll bring up the order of the phoenix, which will be a bit tricky—the Ministry was never fond of that group, thought them to be a militia.” Abbott blanches, flashes Sirius an uneasy smile. “Well, we’ll just keep that in our pockets if we need it.”

At that, Sirius snorts. At best, they were a cobbled together group of young idealists who thought they could stop the war. A war, Sirius recalls, that Ministry denied ever having happened. 

“Thankfully, we’ve got Professor Dumbledore on our side,” Abbott carries on. “Him vouching for you could really turn this around.”

“And the ex-Death Eaters in the Wizengamot?” Sirius asks snidely, temper already rising. He doesn’t mean to be testy, but he’s been cooped up too long, has been ignored and wrongfully condemned too long. 

“We will not be bringing that up unless the prosecution brings it up first,” Abbott says firmly. “Lucius Malfoy is a very powerful man, and we will not be crossing him.”

“Who is the prosecution, anyways?” Sirius asks, swallowing down his anger at being told off. 

“Er,” Abbott digs through his jacket pockets, producing a small sheaf of papers. He flips through them, peering at it closely. “Dolores Umbridge. Earned her Legisparitus status a few years ago, actually, during the Dolohov trials.”

“Brilliant,” Sirius says dully. “Do you know what house?”

“Er, Slytherin, but best not to think about that,” Abbott says. “Right, they’ll be starting in a mo’”

With that, Sirius follows Abbott down a set of long, narrow hallways until they reach the first courtroom. Luckily, people are still filing in, so Abbott hurries Sirius into his seat. A couple minutes later, the entire room is full, each seat taken. Quite a few people are here, including Dumbledore, McGonagall, and to his surprise, Kingsley Shacklebolt, head of the Auror department. 

“Let us begin.”

“Trial of Sirius Orion Black, charged for crimes against The Ministry of Magic and siding with the enemy, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, in the form of taking the Dark Mark, commencing on the 21st of September, presided by Minister of Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge. Wizengamot members in full to serve as jury. Prosecution, Dolores Jane Umbridge, Legisparitus and Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Defense, Geoffrey Fredrick Abbott, Legisparitus Emeritus.”

“Defense, please begin with your opening statement.”

Sirius doesn’t pay too much attention while Abbott delivers the opening statement. It’s stuff he’s heard a thousand times, a statement he could recite word for word in his bloody sleep. He looks around carefully, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. 

Most of the Wizengamot are old, people who Sirius has never seen in his life. The only member he does recognize is Malfoy, who sneers down at him. Sirius grits his teeth, clenching his fists under the table in an effort to keep calm. The one person who knew with absolute certainty that Sirius was not a Death Eater could very well condemn him to take the fall. 

“Thank you, defense. Prosecution, your opening statement.”

“Thank you.” Dolores Umbridge is a squat, toad of a women, dressed entirely in pink and with a smile so venomous, it makes Sirius’s stomach churn. “Members of the Wizengamot, it is very important to remember where Black was apprehended. Fresh from fleeing the tragic destruction of the Potter household, Aurors found him in the midst of a massacre. Thirteen muggles dead, and a young Peter Pettigrew, who foolishly rushed in to stop his friend-turned-enemy, so mangled, all that was left to send to his widowed mother was a finger. Most important of all, we mustn’t forget the state in which we found him, laughing in glee at the absolute devastation he had caused. Please bear this in mind as we proceed, thank you.”

Every muscle in Sirius’s body is taut with rage, an anger so fierce it’s actually rooting him to the spot. His breath comes in barely-there puffs, too anger to even breathe. 

“Sirius,” Abbott says in a low, warning tone. He nods once, a jerky bob of the head. How dare that poisonous bitch presume anything that happened that night? How dare she talk about Pettigrew?

“Thank you, defense, your first statement?”

“Thank you, Minister, I call Sirius Black to the stand.” At that—as rehearsed—Sirius makes his way to the stand. 

“Please state your name for the record.”

“Er, Sirius Orion Black,” he says, voice a little shaky. He clears his throat, repeating it. 

“Wand?”

“Er, fourteen inches, willow, dragon heartstring core,” Sirius recites.

“Defense, you many begin with your questions.” Abbott shoots him an easy smile, one that Sirius is too tense to return. 

“Mr. Black, first off, are you—or were you ever—a Death Eater?”

“No, I wasn’t.” Sirius reminds himself to keep an even temper, to be as neutral and calm as possible. 

“How old were you when the Death Eaters first came into power?”

“Er, I was fourteen,” Sirius says. “In my fourth year.”

“And, what was your house?”

“Gryffindor.”

“Would you say this was an uncommon occurrence for members of your family?” Sirius can’t help but smile a little at that. When he’d first been sorted, lost in the euphoria of freedom and Prongs, he’d entirely forgotten how furious his entirely family would be. 

They made it very clear when he came home for Christmas Break. 

“Yeah, I was the first Gryffindor in the family,” Sirius says. 

“So, a deep departure from family values, then—“

“Objection, Abbott, we are not debating so-called house politics, nor can they be used as predictors of behavior.”

“Forgive me, Minister, I only meant to point out Mr. Black’s departure from his family’s ideals. If you could elaborate on those ideals, Mr. Black?”

“Er, yeah,” he mutters, sucking in a deep breath. He can’t place why, but this question makes him uncomfortable. It’s not that he wants to protect his family members—they can rot in hell, save for a few of them, but he’s still strangely apprehensive. 

“Right, well, my family were purists, about blood and lineage. My parents didn’t, er, join the effort but they thought Volde—“

“Mr. Black!”

“Right, sorry, you-know-who,” Sirius corrects himself, trying to keep the sneer out of his voice. Only cowards refused to say the name. “They thought _you-know-who_ had the right idea.”

“But you didn’t?”

“Of course not,” Sirius says, a touch more heatedly than he meant to. “They were trying to commit a genocide—no group of people deserve that, muggle or wizard.”

“Mr. Black, earlier I had mentioned that you were part of the effort to combat what you yourself described as a genocide. Would you elaborate on that?” He’s not supposed to mention the Order at all, they’d decided last minute, just talk about “voluntary work” so he does, detailing a self-made patrol system near muggle neighborhoods, leaping in to protect people from Death Eaters.

“I did what many people did,” Sirius finishes. “Jumped in where I was needed. It wasn’t because I had to, or anything, just because I thought it was right. 

“Thank you, Mr. Black. One last question, do you bear the Dark Mark?”

“No, I don’t,” he says, rolling up his shirt sleeves to show the room his forearms. Abbott looks to the room triumphantly, and Sirius chances a look around. People discuss with one another, and others scribble furiously on floating pieces of parchment. Fudge looks rather like someone clubbed him over the head. 

“Prosecution, you may examine the witness.” Umbridge stalks forward, a strange little smile on her face. 

“Mr. Black, I had a question on your willingness to call he-who-must-not-be-named by his real name,” she starts, simpering up at the Wizengamot. “It’s very bold of you. Elaborate, please.” Sirius despises her instantly, especially the way she phrases questions as commands. He has to bite down the retort on the tip of his tongue. 

“Fear of the name only increase fear of the thing itself,” Sirius says, reciting one of Dumbledore’s favorite platitudes. In fact, Dumbledore raises his eyebrows, inclining his head a bit. “And I am a Gryffindor, through and through.”

“It does suggest a certain closeness, don’t you think?”

“Not really. People who serve him call him my lord, or the dark lord. Very subservient.”

“So, you’d consider yourself to be his equal then?”

“Clearly not,” Sirius says. “Men like that aren’t capable of thinking they have equals.”

“And men like you, Mr. Black? Do you have equals?”

“Obviously,” he snorts. “I have betters too, if that’s what you’re after.” Abbott flinches, eyes squeezing shut, and Umbridge looks like she swallowed a lemon. 

“Another question, then. You had mentioned that no one in your family were death eaters, but record shows otherwise. What about your cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange?”

“First off, if the scribe reads back my statements, you’ll find that I didn’t say that. I was referring to my parents, clearly. Secondly, some members took the whole blood purity thing straight to the deep end and joined up. That’s got nothing to do with me.”

“You were cousins after all, you must’ve been close to one another,” Umbridge tries. 

“I hated her, and she hated me,” Sirius says. “And if we’re talking about other members of my so-called family that are known to Death Eaters, shall we start with Lucius Malfoy? My cousin Narcissa’s husband.”

There’s a hushed murmur that rips through the court room, and Malfoy, Sirius notes with satisfaction, goes absolutely ashen. Abbott drops his head into the cradle of his arms, which Sirius thinks is a touch dramatic.

“Objection!” Umbridge all but shrieks. “That charge was dropped immediately!”

“Prosecution, continue with your questions.” The rest of them are cheap little jabs meant to play on Sirius’s temper, but he just barely holds it in check. Watching Umbridge get angrier and angrier is pretty good incentive. By the end of the questioning, Abbott doesn’t look like he’s about to pitch either Sirius or himself off a tower, so he takes it as a good sign. 

The character witnesses are next and sitting through them is the strangest thing he’s ever been a part of. It’s half apology, half explanation for not believing him and why they should’ve. It makes Sirius angry, sure, but it leaves spaces for hope. McGonagall looks him straight in the eyes when she says, “he’d rather die than betray his friends, and I should have remembered that.”

They read out the evaluations from Frank and James next, and Sirius has to work doubly hard to keep himself from letting any emotion play out on his face. Frank had been a seventh year when he was a second year, and head boy at that. He’d caught Sirius and his friends too many times to count, but he’d always had a soft spot for them. 

He’d been thrilled when James and Sirius joined his year one auror initiation class, and he’d even let them pair up whenever they did partner work. 

So, it goes for the rest of the week. Umbridge brings witness after witness in to sneer at Sirius, mostly kids he and James used to bully when they were younger. It makes him feel horrible, but as Abbott so sweetly put it—after Sirius annoyed him with one to many doomsday scenarios—“you’re not on trial for being a shitty teenager.”

In one memorable session, they bring up the dark mark tattoo again and Sirius offers to strip naked and prove once and for all it’s not on his body. Umbridge declines, and thankfully, hasn’t brought it up since. 

On the fifth day of the trial—after a particularly petty session of questions—they’re sent away for the Wizengamot to make their final decision. Abbott goes off to send owls, leaving Sirius to crouch in the corner with his head between his knees, desperately trying to calm down. 

“Sirius?” Abbott’s voice jerks him out of the panic-spiral, but it does nothing for the nausea. “They’re calling us back in. You alright?”

“Tip-top shape,” Sirius mutters, getting to his feet. “Right, shall we?”

“Listen,” Abbott says, catching his arm. “Whatever happens, you are innocent. We know this, and so many more people do too.”

“Right,” Sirius mumbles. “Er, I dunno if I ever thank—“

“Save it for after we get the verdict, yeah?”

Inside the courtroom, people are buzzing with activity. Fudge and Umbridge, as well as some woman Sirius doesn’t know, are having what looks to be a pretty heated discussion. Weary, Sirius takes his seat, looking around. He manages to catch Dumbledore’s eye, who winks. 

Dumbledore’s testimony was given with such authority, Sirius felt like he’s in school again. It’s strange to hear his praises like, despite his mistakes—and Merlin, has he made mistakes. Once everyone is seated, Fudge signals for quiet. 

“This court has deliberated over the trial of Sirius Orion Black and has found him… _not guilty_ of the charge of being a death eater!”

All around them, the room erupts into noise. The Wizengamot argues with itself, Umbridge seethes, and Abbott grabs his shoulders and shakes Sirius about a bit, whooping in excitement. Sirius himself slumps in his seat, the words bouncing around his head so fast, they cease to have meaning. 

His breath comes in shallow pants, and all of his edges are fuzzy and cold. Not guilty. How many times has he said the same words to himself? 

“Order! This court dictates that Mr. Black be released into the care of a wizard of Legisparitus Emeritus Abbott’s choosing. Mr. Black is hereby suspended from magic, and any use of it will result in immediately overturn of sentence, and a lifetime sentence to Azkaban prison. Mr. Black will remain Legisparitus Emeritus Abbott’s responsibility until we resume court again on twenty-eighth of September, for the charge of killing thirteen muggles and Peter Pettigrew. Mr. Black’s wand shall remain in our charge. Dismissed.”

Slowly the room begins to file out, until it’s only Sirius, Abbott, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. Sirius regards them with uncertainty. There’s a part of him—a part that is entirely Padfoot—that wants to lunge, wants to rip into the two of them for leaving him to rot without a trial in the first place. The more rational part, which sounds suspiciously like Moony, reminds him to thank them. 

“Er, I’ll just leave you to it,” Abbott says, nodding to both professors. “Sorry, just a bit of clerical work to take care of. Sirius, I’ll see you in the meeting room, whenever you’re… finished.” 

“Professors,” he starts. “Thank you for… er, speaking on my behalf.”

“We should’ve done it in the first place!” McGonagall blurts out. “I knew it, I knew you couldn’t have done it! I watched you stay by Potter’s side for seven years, and three more after that.”

Sirius wants to ask her what the hell stopped her, and maybe it shows on his face, because she seems to deflate. Had he been seventeen, he would’ve panicked, cracked some stupid joke, or called her “Minnie” to her face to assuage the strange tension between them. He is not seventeen, however, and his rage is endless, despite today’s victory. 

Instead, he nods once, careful to hold his tongue.

“Sirius,” Dumbledore says, voice grave. “You will find that the adults children learn from, the adults they look up to, are not infallible. You will learn it on this side, and then again on the other side.”

Sirius swallows hard, anger displaced by the sudden mention of Harri. It is a terrifying thought, that she could ever be this angry at him one day. 

“Thank you,” he says. “Both of you.”

“Is it true?” McGonagall asks. “About… Pettigrew? Albus told me, but I…” Sirius wants desperately to snarl, to ask what the fuck made it so easy to believe that he was the traitor over Peter. 

“Yes,” he says instead, a bit curt. “I asked James to switch the secret-keeper. It was… a mistake.”

“A mistake no one could have predicted,” Dumbledore reminds him.

“And what of this next trial? Is Pettigrew even dead—“

“My dear Minerva, perhaps we should let Sirius discuss that with his Legisparitus?” She nods, giving him one last worried look. “I’m sure you have much work to do, with a NEWT class as big as yours.” With that, they both head off, leaving Sirius alone in the courtroom. 

He looks around, wondering how he would’ve fared five and a half years ago. Probably not as well. He was in shock, frantic and grieving. Getting up on stand and listening to people talk about James and Lily, about Harri, would’ve wrenched him to pieces. 

Finally, he goes back to the meeting room, where Abbott is packing up. 

“Sirius! I was just about to come and get you,” he says. “So, I’ve appointed Mr. Lupin as your vouch. Tiny snag, though, you’ll have to remain at his flat, not your own home. Actually, might be best to stay away from there until all the charges are dropped. It’s warded, and you going back there just makes it look like you’ve got something to hide.”

“Right, that’s fine,” Sirius says. Actually, he’s deeply relieved that he doesn’t have to go back to Grimmauld Place, though he is a little worried about the lack of space. This close to total freedom, he’s bound to get more frantic cooped up inside. “Er, what about Harri? Is she—I mean, they won’t send her back, will they?”

“No, actually,” Abbott says. “Not if I can help it. I’ve got a hearing with one of chaps from Magical Children’s Welfare in the morning. She can stay where she is for now, but I’ll be by after to explain more.”

“So, I… get to go home?” Sirius can hardly believe it. Every part of his body aches for home, to cuddle up with Harri on the sofa, to chase her around as Padfoot, to have post-bedtime drinks with Moony, to make breakfast with him. He just aches for Moony and Harri likes it’s an open wound. 

“Yes!” Abbott declares, a wide smile breaking over his face. “I’ll take that thank you now.”

“Thank you,” Sirius says vehemently. “So much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought about the trial, and just any other thoughts you had!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus gets the owl just as he comes home from work. He feels awful just leaving Harri by herself at home, but she promises she doesn’t mind. He’s procured a toy quidditch pitch for her, but he could only afford one team. Harri loves it regardless, making the figurines play three-on-three while she makes up her own rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get a mini-break before the next trial begins, so buckle in for a little domesticity! Also, definitely getting back into the swing of regular posting!

Remus gets the owl just as he comes home from work. He feels awful just leaving Harri by herself at home, but she promises she doesn’t mind. He’s procured a toy quidditch pitch for her, but he could only afford one team. Harri loves it regardless, making the figurines play three-on-three while she makes up her own rules. 

As of current, he walks in just as her seeker is trying to escape. Remus snatches it out of the air, holding it tight. The little figurine squirms, waving an angry arm at him. 

“Thanks, Moony!” Harri says breathlessly. “He was hiding up near the ceiling. He’s mad that I took him out of the game. 

“He’s Puddlemore, darling, of course he’s cross.” There’s a hoot and an owl flies in, sending the all the figurines, even the seeker, cowering in the relative safety of the pitch. Remus hurries over, taking the letter while Harri carefully fills up a saucer with water. 

_Remus,_

_He's coming home. Enjoy tonight. Will explain all tomorrow._

_Geoff_

It’s a single, scant line, not even ten full words, but Remus reads it over and over again, until Harri demands to know what it says. The sudden shock gives way to relief and exaltation, and he leans down, hauling Harri up and swinging her around as he whoops. 

“Padfoot’s coming back!” he cries.

“Really?” Harri’s lit up brighter than he’s ever seen her. Remus nods eager, pressing a big kiss to her forehead. Merlin, he could cry in relief. Harri shrieks her delight, earning an indignant squawk from the owl, but neither of them can bring themselves to care. 

Remus holds her close, forcing himself not to squeeze too tight. Harri clings to him, the epitome of happiness. 

“We have to throw a party,” she says. “With balloons and take-away!”

“Padfoot will love that,” Remus says, still beaming. “He’ll be here in a bit, actually.” Harri squirms insistently until Remus sets her down, then tears into his room, returning with an armful of construction paper, paints, and scissors. 

“Hurry, Moony! You have to go to the shops! To get party things!” she instructs. “I’ll make decorations.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” he laughs. 

“Get take-away!” Harri calls as he heads back out. He goes to the Indian place first, placing an order for naan, some vegetable curries—now, he’s got to trick two children into eating their veggies—and a biriyani. 

Then, he picks up a pack of balloons, a few bottles of liquor, and a juice from Tesco. He’s awkward as ever—bloody paper money—but Beth, the kind, elderly woman working the till, is very patient with him. 

“Having a party?” she asks, handing back his change.

“A friend of mine is visiting,” Remus explains. 

“Must be very special,” Beth says, a twinkle in her eyes. She shoots him a knowing smile. “Bet she’s gorgeous.”

“Er…” Remus falters, but Beth only laughs, bagging up his things before sending him on his way. He’s quiet when he returns to the Indian place, picking up the order. He hasn’t thought about…that since he was a teenager, and everything seemed possible. 

Even if Sirius liked men, there was a very good chance that the two of them were simply too broken to fit together. Besides, they had the rest of the trial to worry about, and then Harri. It wouldn’t help anyone to dwell on that.

When he gets back, the flat is covered in paper stars, hearts, and to Remus’s great amusement, paper dogs with sparkly black fur. 

“When did he say he was coming, Moony?” Harri asks. She’s a mess of paint and glitter, and there’s a paintbrush tangled in her curls. 

“In a bit, pet,” he says setting the takeaway down. He sets the balloons free, charming them to fill up on their own. “Shall we clean you up a bit?”

“Oh, alright,” Harri sighs, world-weary. Remus snorts, fetching a rag and running it under warm water. Carefully, he wipes up the mess, rolling his eyes at the way she squirms. Honestly, you’d think she was under duress. 

Privately, Remus is glad that her greatest annoyance at the moment is getting an impromptu washing. It’s a far cry from the small, fearful but determined child he met a few months ago. It’s foolish to think she’ll always stay this way, but he can try and protect her as long as he can. 

There’s a sharp knock on the door that makes the both of them jump, then Harri races to the door before Remus can stop her. His heart is thudding so loud, time seeming to slow with each beat. His breathing comes in faint little puffs, every part of his body restless. 

Finally, he thinks. 

“Padfoot!” Harri’s scream is loud in the tiny flat, and before he can even come in, Sirius has Harri in his arms, holding her like she’s a lifeline. He looks over at Remus, eyes glassy with unshed tears. 

Finally. 

Harri squirms until she’s let down. She pulls Sirius further inside, eager to show him all the hard work she’d put in to get ready for the party. Sirius, to his credit, makes an honest effort to pay attention, but he keeps looking over at Remus. 

“Shall we eat?” Harri asks. 

“You must be starved,” Remus says. They’re strange first words to say to Sirius, but he nods, grinning gratefully. 

“Ministry food is horrible,” he says. “That’s the real crime.”

Remus snickers, some of the strange tension appeased. He summons plates and the take away, ignoring both Harri and Sirius’s protests as he loads their plates up with the vegetable curry first. It’s got capsicum in it, a vegetable Harri utterly despises, but it’s one of the healthiest things on the menu. 

They eat and chat for a while, mostly listening to Harri’s running commentary on everything that happened while Sirius was away. When she asks about the trial, he just shrugs. 

“Told them the truth,” he says. “That’s really all you can do, Hazza.”

Harri nods, eyes wide and somber like Sirius is giving away the precious secret to life. Remus snorts into his water. 

After Harri’s satisfied with all the attention Sirius showers on her—and she starts to droop—Sirius takes her into Remus’s room to put her to bed. He emerges a few minutes later, while Remus is doing the washing up. He stands in the middle of the small kitchen, just watching Remus. It sends Remus’s heartbeat skyrocketing.

“Moony,” Sirius says softly, and _oh_ , there’s really only so much Remus can take. In a heartbeat, he crosses the room, flinging himself at Sirius and holding him tight. One arm winds tight around Sirius’s middle, and his other hand tangles itself in his hair. 

Sirius clutches back just as tightly, two fists balled up in Remus’s sweater. He’s breathing hard, like he’s trying desperately not to cry. Remus starts to sway a little, just a gentle rocking motion. He’s a bit taller, so he folds Sirius against him, tucking his head under his chin. 

“Bloody merlin,” Sirius croaks. “I thought I…”

“Yeah, I know,” Remus says quietly. Gently, he starts to pick apart the tangles. Sirius must’ve been running his hands through it all day long, mussing it up. It’s a habit he picked up from James. “It’s alright, now.”

“Not quite,” Sirius mumbles. “But better.”

“I think that’s all we can ask for,” Remus reminds him. “For now, anyways.” They’re quiet for a bit, still pressed against each other. Remus revels in his warmth, though he smells all wrong. That’s a simple fix, it’ll only take a day or so of borrowed clothes for Sirius to smell right again, like a mixture of the both of them. 

Remus blinks, surprised at his own thought. Must be the moon coming up. 

“Did you get soap in my hair?” Sirius mumbles. Remus snorts, purposefully raking his fingers through his hair, tangles be damned. 

“Needed something to dry my hands off with, you interrupted the washing up.” Sirius scoffs, jabbing a quick finger into Remus’s side, making him jump. 

“Prat,” Remus calls him, shoving him away. Sirius only laughs, not bothering to exit Remus’s orbit. Eventually he does, and the sudden loss makes Remus feel… well, he actually can’t quite articulate it, which is troubling in and of itself. 

“So, er, what really happened?” he asks, just to give them something to talk about. Instantly, he regrets it, because some of happiness seems to drain away from Sirius, makes him look older, more tired. Sirius explains some of the trial, and it’s clear he’s leaving out huge chunks, but Remus doesn’t press him. 

Eventually, Sirius will tell him all of it, if he feels up to it. 

“Listen, Abbott will be by in the morning, to talk about Harri and where she’s going,” Sirius says. Remus worries his lip. Technically, Sirius is still on a few charges, so he can’t be her guardian for now, and Remus isn’t even family. 

“Abbott will help us,” Remus says. It’s sort of just a thing to say, but Remus repeats it to himself again, to try and force himself to believe it. 

“He’s a good bloke,” Sirius says, a wry smile on his lips. “McGonagall apologized to me today.”

“What for?” Remus blurts out, stunned. 

“For thinking I was a murderous bastard, I suppose,” Sirius says with a shrug. It’s a forced indifference. “Easy mistake to make.”

“Sirius—”

“Don’t. Not you,” Sirius interrupts. “We’ve apologized to each other enough.”

“Suppose so,” Remus says, letting out a sad little laugh. “You alright?”

“Suppose I will be,” Sirius says. “After a drink.”

“I’ve got just the thing,” Remus says, summoning a bottle of muggle liquor and two glasses. The whiskey is smooth, warming Remus up with every sip. 

Sirius downs the first one, drinking it in a single shot, but savors the next one. They sit by the fire, shoulders pressed together. Sirius seems to get looser and looser, and eventually his head falls on Remus’s shoulder. 

“Perhaps it’s time for bed,” he says. 

“I miss sleeping in a bed,” Sirius sighs. “Or anywhere warm, for that matter.”

“Do you want the couch?” Remus can make a bed out of the spare duvet and settle down in front of the fireplace. 

“Nah, you take it,” Sirius says, leaning back a little to smile blearily at Remus. “Padfoot can go bunk with Harri tonight.”

*

Seeing Harri again was like surfacing from a deep and murky ocean. Sirius breathed her in deep lungful’s, clinging like she was his very last hope. All the worry, all the panic had melted away when he saw her. 

Seeing Remus again was like having all the breath snatched away from him. Tight, constricting cageyness that didn’t dissolve until he found himself in Remus’s arms. 

Sirius is a teetering on the knife’s edge of drunk, and part of him wants to storm right back into the living room and pull Remus right back into his arms, or kiss him, or something, but the rational part of him—the last sober part—knows it’s better to stay here and keep his heart safely intact. 

Padfoot jumps up onto the bed, making himself comfortable against Harri. She sleeps curled up tight, so Padfoot rests his chin on the warm lump of little girl. 

Merlin, he missed her. 

Padfoot wakes to a small hand stroking through the fur on the top of his head. He lifts his head lazily, letting his tongue loll out in greeting. Harri shoots him a sleepy little smile back. She blinks at him, slow, rubbing a small fist against her eye. 

“Morning Padfoot,” she mumbles, slipping out of bed. Her hair is a veritable nest, just like James when he used to keep his hair longer. He stretches slowly—it always feels better as a dog—before turning back. 

“Sleep alright, Hazza?”

“It’s too big,” Harri says, regarding the bed with a frown. “Gets cold.”

“Sorry darling,” Sirius says, ducking down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “I think socks might help with that, though.”

Harri rolls her eyes, tugging on his hand and leading him to the living room. Remus is already up, busy frying up toast, bacon, and eggs.

“Morning,” he says, holding an arm out for Harri. She gives him a quick squeeze before going to the fridge, pouring herself a glass of juice. 

“Morning,” Sirius says. “Need a hand?”

“Set the table, won’t you?” 

They work in comfortable silence, but Sirius can’t help but remember last night in the kitchen, the two of them pressed as tight as they could be. It dries his throat out a bit. 

“Did Abbott say when he was coming?” Remus asks. 

“Er, not exactly,” Sirius answers, pouring two cups of tea. Extra milk in his and extra sugar in Remus’s. “Dunno, said he had a meeting with someone from Magical Children’s Welfare.”

“Brilliant,” Remus intones, rolling his eye. “Right, well, the both of you will have to help me straighten up around here.”

“Alright,” Harri says genially. “Padfoot, what’s the barrister coming to talk about?”

He and Remus exchange uneasy looks. They’d decided early on that it was best to keep Harri out of the legal proceedings as much as possible, but she’s a curious child, and is slowly losing her ability to hold her tongue. It’s not a bad thing, per say, but it does make for some awkward questions at times. 

“Er, Moony?” Remus rolls his eyes but takes a seat beside Harri. 

“Darling, when your mum and dad had you, they decided that if anything should happen to them, Padfoot would be the one to take care of you—“

“He is, though,” Harri interrupts. There’s a glimmer of fear in her eyes, and Sirius wants badly to soothe it away, to promise that she’ll be with him as long as she likes, but it’s not a promise he can make. 

“Right, but love, the ministry still thinks that he’s done something bad,” Remus explains. “They’re afraid that Padfoot might hurt you.”

“He wouldn’t!” Harri insists. To Sirius’s surprise, her glass begins to shake, thin barely-there cracks appearing along the sides. He’d just thought Harri had grown out of her magical outburst, like most children did when they turned seven.

“Hazza,” Sirius says as soothingly as possible. “It’ll be okay, no matter what, alright?”

“I’m not going back!” she says forcefully. The cracks grow a little more. 

“It might not be up to us,” Remus says gently. With that, the glass explodes, and Harri rears back, eyes filling with tears. 

“I didn’t mean to,” she says quickly. “It just happened, I don’t know how!”

“It’s alright,” Remus says quickly. “Go on and wash your hands, love. Maybe change your sweater?” Harri nods, a deep frown marring her little face. 

“She’s a bit old to be having outburst,” Remus says, once she’s safely out of ear shot. 

“Dunno,” Sirius says, frowning thoughtfully. “Last time I had one, I was fourteen.” There was nothing kind, or normal, about his childhood, and his control was always a bit tenuous. Then again, the same could be said for Harri.

“Were you?” Remus asks, the gleam of academic curiosity bright in his eyes. “How’d you stop? It won’t look good if she’s still having outbursts. MCW will think she’s unbalanced. They might place her somewhere else.”

“We just need to keep her calm, is all,” Sirius says. “Keep telling her that she’ll stay here, and everything will be alright.”

“She knows when we lie to her,” Remus points out. “She doesn’t call us out, but she knows. She’s far too smart.”

“Suppose we just see what Abbott says,” Sirius says. Remus nods, clearing up the spilled juice. Together, they work quickly to clean up the kitchen and the living room. There’s a muted crack, then a knock. Sirius swallows hard, getting up to answer the door. 

“Morning,” Abbott says, waving cheerfully. Hopefully, that meant good news. 

“Cup of tea?” Remus offers, summoning the teapot. Abbott nods eagerly, accepting the cup. 

“What’s the verdict?” Sirius asks nervously.

“Thankfully, they’re letting her stay here for now,” Abbott says. “Met with a—well, I wouldn’t call her pleasant, per say—woman who’d been following the trial. Saoirse Finnegan. Bit brutal but didn’t see anything wrong with having Harri under Mr. Lupin’s care.”

“Does, er, does she know that I’m—”

“Oh, yes, actually, your records were pulled,” Abbott says. “She’ll be by soon to give you a plan for the, er, _situation_.”

“I can stay?” Harri’s back in the room, dressed in one of Moony’s old sweaters and a pair of ancient looking wool socks.

“Yes, young lady, you may,” Abbott tells her a smile. Harri lets out a shriek, throwing herself wildly at Sirius. He catches her deftly, grunting a little under her weight, but hugging her fiercely.

“I know we’re not done with the trials, but Sirius,” Abbott says, once Harri’s calmed down. “I have a very good feeling.”

Sirius grins. For the first time, in a long time, he does too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I think it’s ridiculous that there isn’t a wizarding equivalent to CPS, so I’m adding departments to the ministry as I see fit. Also, three guesses as to who Saoirse is. Tune in next week and let me know what you thought!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SIRIUS BLACK CLEARED OF ALL DEATH EATER CHARGES  
> “Bloody hell,” Bill mutters, grabbing the paper. He scans the article, reading through it quickly. Apparently, Sirius Black did not sell out the Potter family, and he never was a Death Eater. He glances at Tonks, noting the crease between her eyebrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Look at that, update number 4 on time! Anyways, enjoy some of the wizarding world updates through the eyes of some of my favorite characters, plus the second trial!

Bill Weasley is in six NEWT classes this year and is up to his bloody ears in homework and studies. He sits at the Gryffindor table, a plate of bacon and eggs laying untouched in front of him. He’s scrawling a last-minute essay for his ancient runes class when suddenly, there’s a slam that jolts him out of his essay.

Scowling, he turns to find Tonks, hair a fiery orange today, clashing horrifically with her Hufflepuff tie.

“Morning,” he says pointedly, waving at her with his quill. Tonks slams a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of his plate, a wild look in her violet eyes. Actually, Bill’s been far too busy to write to his own family, let alone read the paper.

“Look!” she commands. Bill sighs, sets aside his essay.

SIRIUS BLACK CLEARED OF ALL DEATH EATER CHARGES

“Bloody hell,” Bill mutters, grabbing the paper. He scans the article, reading through it quickly. Apparently, Sirius Black did not sell out the Potter family, and he never was a Death Eater. He glances at Tonks, noting the crease between her eyebrows.

“Alright?” he asks, voice quiet. Tonks frowns, staring intently at the picture. It’s of Sirius Black being ushered from a courtroom, looking haggard and tired. He doesn’t look evil or anything, just spent.

“I guess,” Tonks sighs, dropping into the seat next to his. “Dunno… never really knew him. I was eleven when he, er, went away. Didn’t really come by to visit. He and mum got on alright, but she was fifteen years older than him. Mum doesn’t talk about her family, at all.”

“Sorry,” Bill says, a bit awkwardly. There’s only one member of the Weasley and Prewitt clan—still alive that is—that the family doesn’t speak to, as far as Bill knows.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tonks says, shrugging. “Suppose he might be by, for tea or something.”

Bill snorts at the image. In his mind, Sirius Black is still the Notorious Murder Who Killed Thirteen Muggles. It’s strange to think of him at Andromeda Tonks’ table. She’s one of the sternest women he’s ever met, regal looking and deadly sharp.

“Send an owl if it ever happens,” Bill snickers. Tonks smiles, to his relief, and tousles his hair.

“I don’t know what’s scarier, my mum or Sirius Black,” Tonks drawls. “Either way, I suppose I can take him off the list of Death Eater family members I have.”

The smile freezes on Bill’s face—actually, he’s not quite sure what to say to that—but Tonks smiles, turns her hair a vibrant pink, and gives him a two fingered salute as she makes her way back to her own table.

*

Despite being home, Padfoot doesn’t actually get to spend too much time with Harri. The barrister—she can’t even say the other word, too difficult—is over all the time, having meetings while Harri’s to play by herself in Moony’s room.

She doesn’t mind too much, but it does make her very cross. She’s not a baby, she’s seven years old. She can read, and write, and she’s learning all sorts of things from Moony’s books. Maybe she could even help.

Harri thinks about that often, about being allowed to help, to save Padfoot. She daydreams about walking up to the council and saying something so magical and smart that they just let Padfoot go home. Then he won’t have to worry or be scared, and they can be a proper family again.

The before Padfoot’s next trial, everyone’s sitting at the kitchen table, talking about what to do. Harri presses herself to the door, positioning her ear right by the keyhole, focusing hard to listen. Behind her, the Puddlemore figurines are plotting their grand escape.

“—only defense is the wand,” someone says.

“That’s it?” Padfoot asks, sounding tired and scared. “That’ll definitely cinch it.”

“Sirius.” Moony’s voice sounds a bit strained, like Aunt Petunia’s when she can’t yell in public. “Trust Abbott, please?”

“Of course, I do,” Padfoot argues. It’s a bit funny that Moony never really calls Padfoot “Padfoot” unless he’s talking about him to her.

“I, er, think we might have to have a serious chat about the unregistered Animagus business,” says the barrister, Mr. Abbott.

“That’s the only chat I _can_ have.”

“Sirius!” Moony growls. There’s a muffled smack.

“Alright, keep your hair on! Sorry, Geoff, go on.”

The words get too quiet, and Harri makes her way back to the pitch. One of the players flies out, skirting around her like they’re daring her to catch them, but Harri just lets him go. She sits on the bed, and not for the first time, she wishes things could go back to the way they were at Grimmauld place, before Moony had to go and Padfoot went a bit mad.

She lays back on the pillows, just remembering. She hopes that Kreacher is alright, that he’s getting enough to eat and that he isn’t bored. At least he doesn’t have to cook or clean as much.

She must fall asleep because the next thing she knows, the room is dark and Padfoot and Moony sit on either side of her. She squirms a bit, sitting up.

“Did Mr. Abbott go?” she asks. Padfoot strokes her hair softly, gently tugging apart the tangles. Moony smiles at her, nods, and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“How much of it did you hear?” Moon asks, a twinkle in his knowing eyes. Harri blushes a little.

“Not much,” she says honestly.

“Come on, Hazza, you’ve got to do better than that,” Padfoot teases, pulling her into his lap. Harri smiles, leans back against his chest. “In fact, your dad and I used to sneak around Hogwarts all night long and never get caught.”

“Really?” Harri asks, deeply intrigued.

“Never mind that,” Moony says quickly. “Darling, we have to… tell you something.”

“What?” Harri asks wearily. She doesn’t like the nervous set of Moony’s mouth.

“Love, you’ll have to go with Mr. Abbott for a night,” Moony explains. Instantly Harri starts to protest, but Padfoot assures her it’s only one night.

“Just for tomorrow night,” Moony promises.

“Do you double promise?” Harri asks, holding her pinky out. Moony loops his own with it, nodding somberly.

“But why do I have to go?” Harri asks. Padfoot and Moony exchange nervous glances. Another one of those secrets they don’t think she’s old enough for.

“Er, I’m going to be ill tomorrow,” Moony says finally. “I can’t look after you and Padfoot can’t look after you alone, he’s not allowed.”

“Alright,” Harri agrees finally.

“It’ll be fun, pet,” Padfoot says, tickling her side. “Geoff’s got a daughter about your age. Be nice to meet other children, wouldn’t it?”

Historically, Harri’s never had the best track record with girls, but hopefully, Mr. Abbott’s daughter will be nice. Maybe she’ll want to play dolls. Maybe they’ll be magic dolls, even.

“Suppose,” Harri shrugs.

“Let’s do something fun tonight,” Moony suggests. “You choose, Harri, anything you like.”

What Harri would like would be for everyone to just be at home, and not worry, but she suggests they play with the quidditch pitch by the fire. Moony and Padfoot are pleased, and they even play with her made-up rules.

Moony even orders take-away, without any of the vegetables Harri doesn’t like, and lets her eat all the buttery-est pieces of naan. Finally, the quidditch players throw a fit, shaking their little arms and swearing. At that, Harri suggests they pull out the gobstones set.

The next morning, Harri wakes on the couch, laying in Moony’s lap. Padfoot the dog lays over her like the world’s softest duvet. She wriggles out of their embrace, making her way to the bathroom. When she comes back, Moony’s slumped over Padfoot the dog, facedown in his fur.

“Morning,” she calls in a soft voice. Moony wakes first, rubbing his eyes before he offers Harri a sleepy smile.

“Hiya, darling,” he says. “Be there in a mo’”

He ambles off to the bathroom, waking Padfoot the dog, who turns right back into Padfoot the man.

“Sleeping as the dog is much more restful, but it’s murder on my joints,” he groans, stretching. “Morning, Hazza, sleep alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” she says. “Padfoot, will you get the tea down? Moony doesn’t like me climbing up the cabinets.”

Padfoot nods, stumbling to the kitchen. Moony and Padfoot both take a very long time to wake up fully, but she supposes all adults are like that. Padfoot starts a pot of tea, rifling through the fridge for eggs. He scrambles them up, serving Harri a slice of toast with eggs on it. She pours tomato sauce all over it, eating it happily.

“Make some for me too, will you?” Moony asks, dropping into the seat beside Harri. He ruffles her hair in greeting.

“Oh sure,” Padfoot says rolling his eyes. “Shall I serve you your bloody tea, as well, your highness?”

“That’ll be all,” Moony says, putting on a funny posh voice and winking at Harri. She giggles into her glass of pumpkin juice.

After breakfast, Moony packs her bag for her while Padfoot sits her down between his knees, running a comb carefully through her hair. He sort of plaits it, twisting pieces around until he finally ties the entire thing up with a ribbon. Harri predicts it’ll fall out within the hour, if she’s lucky. 

Moony takes her to Mr. Abbott’s house himself. It’s in a small town, where the houses are all far apart and trees are everywhere. The leaves are just starting to turn.

The house they go to is a small, but cheery looking place. They’ve got a bright yellow door. Moony knocks on the door twice, taking Harri’s hand. It’s Mr. Abbott who opens the door, smiling at the pair of them.

“Oh, please, come inside,” he says. “Hello, Harri, how’re you?”

“Alright, thank you,” she says a little shyly, looking about. The living room is painted the same yellow as the door, and the room is filled with big, squashy, cream-colored furniture. It’s a bit like being inside a lemon.

“Right, Remus, I’ll be going to yours in a minute, just have to finish gathering the notes,” Mr. Abbott says. “Elizabeth, Hannah, come say hello!”

A tall, thin woman walks out of the kitchen, brushing off her hands. Her hair is done up in more tiny little plaits than Harri can count. She’s dark skinned with dark brown eyes and a kind smile. She reminds Harri a bit of her nursery school teacher.

“Hello there,” she says, crouching by Harri. “You must be Harri, lovely to have you.”

“Thank you,” Harri mumbles.

“Harri, darling, we’ve got to go,” Remus says, holding his arms out for a hug. Harri clings to him tight, pressing her face against his shoulder. “Mind Mrs. Abbott, please.”

“Okay,” Harri says, releasing him. Mrs. Abbott gives Moony a nervous smile.

“Is ‘good luck’ an alright thing to say?” she asks. Moony goes promptly pink.

“Er, as alright as anything,” he says.

“Sorry, I’ve never met a—well, I’m sure you’re all lovely,” Mrs. Abbott says quickly, looking a little uncomfortable. “Well, good luck, then.”

“Thanks,” Moony says. He presses a kiss to the top of Harri’s head one last time before he heads off.

Mrs. Abbott pats Harri shoulder, leading her into the kitchen. 

“Just a minute, dear, let me go see where Hannah is,” she says. “Please, take a seat, have a biscuit.”

Harri stares around the kitchen, another room with lemony walls. Vases full of an assortment of colorful flowers sit on every counter, and a huge flowerpot sits on the window ledge. 

“Here she is,” Mrs. Abbott says, guiding a small girl into the room. She looks a lot like Mrs. Abbott, with her brown skin and big brown eyes. Her hair is in braids too, though not as many or as thin as her mum. Little yellow beads hang on the end of each one. Harri wishes she could have hair like that. “Hannah, say hello.”

“Hello,” Hannah says dutifully. “I’m Hannah.”

“I’m Harri,” Harri says. Suddenly, she’s shy. Her dress—not really even a dress, but one of Moony’s sweaters that falls past her knees with the sleeves hemmed—isn’t as nice as the ones Hannah and her mum have on. Her own hair falls in messy clumps, the ribbon tangled wildly in the curls. 

Hannah offers Harri a nervous smile, then looks up at her mother. Mrs. Abbott pats her daughter’s cheek, smiling kindly at her. It makes Harri think of Padfoot and Moony, and the intensity with which she misses them rises. 

“Why don’t you play in the garden,” Mrs. Abbott offers. “Hannah really enjoys flowers. Love, why don’t you show Harri your flower beds?”

Hannah nods, stepping up and taking Harri’s hand to lead her to the back garden. It makes her think of that boy in Quality Quidditch Supplies, the redheaded one with more siblings than Harri had ever seen. It makes her miss him. She hopes he’s doing alright. 

“Do you like tulips?” Hannah asks, showering her a patch where flowers of many colors stand tall. “They just bloomed.”

“They’re nice,” Harri says. She doesn’t really know much about flowers. While the Dursley’s made her cut the grass as one of her chores, she wasn’t allowed to touch the flowers. Just as well; she never really had an interest in them. “Colorful.”

“Mum put a spell on them to make them bloom,” Hannah explains. She kneels next to them, leaning in to sniff one. “They bloom around my birthday, naturally. That’s in April.”

“Oh,” Harri says, copying Hannah and sitting. “Mine’s in July.”

Hannah and Harri really don’t do much after that. Hannah shows her the roses, the daisies, and the sunflowers. She knows a lot about flowers, and Harri doesn’t mind letting her talk. As the sun is starting to set, Mrs. Abbott calls them in for supper. 

“Did you have a nice time?” she asks them as they wash up at the kitchen sink. 

“Yeah,” Harri says politely. “Thank you for having me.” Even as she says it, she wishes she was back at home. 

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Abbott says. She smooths down Harri’s hair, hands her a dish towel with flowers all over it. 

“What’s your favorite flower?” Hannah asks, once she’s clean too. Thankfully, Harri’s saved from answering when Mrs. Abbott serves them supper, roast potatoes and chicken. After dinner, Harri offers to help with the washing up, but Mrs. Abbott just gives her a strange look, pulling out her wand and making the plates do their own washing up. 

“Shall we read a book before bedtime, girls?” 

The books Mrs. Abbott reads are not like the books Moony and Padfoot like. They’re all about little witches having fun in forests and gardens, playing with magic flowers and bowtruckles. Harri’s almost relieved when it’s time to go to bed. 

That night, she thinks about Padfoot and Moony, the books they read to her, and the games they play. She misses them horribly, hoping that Moony feels better enough to take her back in the morning. 

*

The trials been going on the four the past four days, and honestly, Sirius has a good feeling about this one. The first thing they did was scour his wand for spells. Debates were had about the spells used to blow things up, how control impacted spell release, and how muggles reacted to magic. 

Umbridge has a field day with the unregistered Animagus thing, but to his absolute surprise, the Wizengamot had seemed more impressed than horrified at the thought of three fourteen-year-olds managing to turn themselves successfully into animagi. Sirius gets a citation—three hundred galleons, which is more than fair in his opinion—and a verbal warning, since he can’t technically be charged for something he did underaged. 

Umbridge cites the Black Family penchant for blood prejudice, and Abbott produces another character witness to talk about how Sirius was never like that. Somehow, they get Andy to talk about him, about his so-called weirdness as a child, and how they were the only cousins alike in the entire clan. 

After that trial, Andy comes to find him, launching herself at Sirius and wrapping him in a tight hug. There are apologies and invitations to tea, but not tears. It’s the one quality Andy shares with Bella and Cissy; they refuse to let go of their stoic coolness—though Bella has clear lost that tendency. 

“After Bella and Lucius, I just thought…” Andy sighs. “I’m sorry, Sirius, sincerely.”

“S’alright,” Sirius mumbles, flushing a little. It’s strange to have Andy pay him so much attention. The last time she’d had any patience for him was when he was a kid. 

Sirius has sort of settled into a routine. Wake up, eat with Harri and Remus, go to trial, then come back to play whatever new game Harri has cooked up. Sirius feels bad about that, the way she must be so bored, but there’s nothing to do for it. 

After the trial, Sirius will buy her a broom or something, teach her to fly. That should keep her busy and happy. Prongs would be mortified at the idea that his daughter couldn’t even fly yet. 

The fifth day of the trial, everything changes when Umbridge calls Mrs. Pettigrew to the stand. 

When Sirius was still in school, he used to spend summers hopping around to all his mates’ houses, to spend as much time away from his parents as possible. Mrs. Potter had met his mother after first year and had promptly agreed to not only let Sirius hang around but lie for him every time they went to Remus’s or Peter’s house. 

Mrs. Pettigrew had always been a bit of a frail woman, and though she was happy to host them, it was clear that Peter didn’t like the idea of them bothering his poor mum. Those scant few days they were at the Pettigrew house were the only days in the summers when they were well-behaved. 

Mrs. Pettigrew looks much more fragile now, like the slightest wind could shatter her. Sirius is flooded with guilt at the thought of putting her through this, but there’s a quiet, dark voice in the back of his mind that asks what sort of mother raises a future traitor and death eater. 

Umbridge is brutal with her, picking apart her every insecurity about not only Peter, but her husband. Mr. Pettigrew had passed when Peter was ten—a hunting accident. Apparently, he’d been drowned by a kelpie. 

Abbott tries to be gentle, to remind her of the good times, but all that really does is make her cry. Still sobbing, she’s escorted off the stand. 

Hers is the last testimony, then the closing statements are delivered. Sirius barely pays attention, watching Mrs. Pettigrew try and fail to get a hold of herself. Fudge calls a recess, sending them away so the Wizengamot had time to deliberate. 

“This court has deliberated over the trial of Sirius Orion Black and has found him… not guilty of the charge of murdering thirteen muggles!”

The court goes deathly silent, and Sirius desperately wishes for noise. Fudge clears his throat, unrolling the next parchment of paper. 

“The trial for the murder of Peter Pettigrew is on hold indefinitely,” Fudge announces. “Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt shall take the case and shall notify this court when sufficient evidence has been collected.” 

All the air in Sirius’s body leaves him in a rush, sending him slumping over the bench. The crowd dissipates slowly, many members of the Wizengamot coming up to speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt. He’s a fair few years older than Sirius, in the same year as Cissy. 

Shacklebolt makes his way over to Sirius, offering him a grim smile. 

“Congratulations,” he says. Sirius thanks him a quiet voice. “I’d like you to stop by as soon as the last trial ends and you’re cleared of all your charges. We could use a bit more help on the Pettigrew case.”

“Yeah, of course,” Sirius says, surprised. Shacklebolt offers him a wry smile.

“From what I remember, you had promise, Black.”

A few more people come up to him, offering apologies and congratulations, when finally, it’s Abbott, Sirius, and Mrs. Pettigrew left in the court room. She eyes him with the same watery blue eyes Peter has, and guilt rips through Sirius in a fresh wave. 

“Are you pleased with yourself?” Mrs. Pettigrew asks, her voice shaking with rage.

“Mrs. Pettigrew—”

“My son is dead because of you!” she yells, voice thick with tears. “I spent years mourning him and now you come back and say that he’s not dead, that he’s a traitor, that he sided with—with you-know-who!”

“Mrs. Pettigrew, that’s the truth,” Abbott says, leaping in before Sirius can really say anything. “I’m so sorry, but that’s it.”

“You ruined his life!” Mrs. Pettigrew sobs. “He should have never met you! He’d be alive and well—here with me, where he belonged—if he’d never met you in the first place.” She dissolves into tears, and Sirius just stands there, a lump heavy and painful in his throat. 

The thing is, she’s right. Sirius wonders often just what pushed Peter over the edge, what soured the love between the four of them, the brotherhood. He’d never considered that it could be him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the complexity of the Peter issue… will definitely be exploring that as the fic goes on, and in subsequent fics of this this AU that I may write (though, as it stands now, I’ve got a couple already planned). Anyways, tell me what you thought! Till next time!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius is quiet when he gets back home, holding himself in strange, stiff way that has Remus’s heart leaping into his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, we had to end up here at some point. Enjoy!

Sirius is quiet when he gets back home, holding himself in strange, stiff way that has Remus’s heart leaping into his throat.

“Well?” he asks quietly. It’s late and Harri’s already in bed. She hadn’t been happy about that, had come dangerously close to a tantrum before Remus had simply potato-sacked her over his shoulder and tucked her in himself. Just as well, she hadn’t been sleeping well.

“Cleared,” Sirius sighs, sitting on the very edge of the couch. “Not the… Pettigrew charge, but the rest.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Remus asks, getting up to make him a cup of tea. Sirius runs his hands through his hair, which falls limp and dull through his fingers. Remus tips a healthy—or, perhaps, not-so healthy—amount of fire whiskey into the cup.

“Mrs. Pettigrew was there.” Ah, so that’s it. Sirius had always felt very odd around mothers. Back when Remus’s mum was alive, Sirius was strange, stiff, and overly polite with her, watching her with darting eyes and a nervous, nearly manic smile. The only one he’d warmed up to was Mrs. Potter, and that wasn’t until fourth year. 

“Peter wasn’t our fault, Sirius,” Remus says, handing over the teacup.

“Wasn’t it?” Sirius asks, raising an eyebrow. “We should’ve seen. Should’ve… I dunno, done something.”

“That’s the problem with you,” Remus sighs. “Always charging on ahead, thinking you can solve every problem. Sometimes, people change for the worse. There’s nothing to be done about it.”

“Cor, that’s depressing,” Sirius mumbles, drinking his tea down in a single shot. He winces, shaking his head like a waterlogged dog. “Can always count on you to cheer me up, thanks, Moo—mate.”

Remus snorts, ignoring his slip of tongue. Actually, he’s almost made the same mistake a fair few times, but they just aren’t Padfoot and Moony anymore. Privately, Remus thinks there can be no Padfoot or Moony without Prongs.

“Harri asleep?” Sirius asks, after a beat of silence.

“Nearly dead on her feet, but she wanted to wait up for you,” Remus explains. “What held you up?”

“Auror office,” Sirius says, hauling himself up to his feet. “Can I go see her? I won’t wake her, but I just need to…”

“Don’t think she’d mind if you did wake her,” Remus admits.

“Cheers,” Sirius says, mustering a weak imitation of the classic Sirius Black smile. There was a time when Remus would’ve come over weak-kneed and flustered at the sight of it, but this smile is barely a flicker compared to the original’s utter brilliance.

Remus’s heart aches for it, for the boy it came attached to. He’s been battling with these feeling for nearly ten years now, so it’s old hat to carefully stow them away. Of course, now that he’s got the real thing in front of him, keep the feelings where they belong is much harder than it should be.

It comes at the strangest times: Sirius cooking breakfast, Sirius deliberately losing to Harri in a game of chess just to see her smile, Sirius tucking her in, smoothing back her hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Remus can hear their quiet conversation, Harri sleepy questions, and Sirius’s careful answers. He can almost see the look on his face, that sweet tenderness that only Harri can bring out. It is one of his favorite expressions to see.

Remus must fall asleep on the couch, because the next thing he sees are big, bottle green eyes.

“Morning, pet,” he mumbles, stretching a little. His joints ache, but not too terribly. He’s in that limbo where the wolf has receded enough that only human Remus remains—for the most part anyways.

“Morning,” Harri says. “Padfoot’s sleeping.”

“Come on, then, I’ll make you some tea,” Remus says, straightening up. Harri clambers up into his lap, pressing her face against his shoulder. Remus tightens his arm around her, clenching his jaw as the added weight twinges in his hip. Still, it’s nice to hold her like this. Eventually, they’ll get to a point where it’ll only embarrass her.

Remus gets to baby her until Sirius makes his way out of the bedroom, stretching. He grins at the sight of them, lips stretching up into a lazy, loving smile. Sleep softens his features, like his body hasn’t remembered the atrocities it’s been through.

“Give us a cuddle, then,” Sirius says, holding his arms out. Remus goes to pass Harri along, but Sirius just tugs on his arm, pulling them both in.

“You’re clingy this morning,” Remus remarks, fighting to keep his neutrality.

“Just glad to have a rest from the trials,” Sirius says, hiding in Harri’s veritable mane of hair. Remus had chanced a trip to Diagon Alley, hunting for a book on spells and charms for hair. He’s skimmed through it but has yet to try anything from it.

“When will they be over, Padfoot?” Harri asks, voice muffled. She squirms a little, wanting out of their collective embrace. Remus acquiesces, letting her down. Sirius looks at her with a forlorn expression.

“Soon, darling,” he says. “They’re taking a three-week recess.”

“They’ll start back up on Halloween?” Remus asks, dreading the answer. He’s not sure how Sirius will react in court on the anniversary. He knows he himself wouldn’t be able to keep his emotions in check.

“No,” Sirius says, shutting his eyes. Remus summons the eggs and bacon, sending them to fry on the hob. “Thank Merlin. November first is the first day of the third trial.”

“When they’re done,” Harri asks. “Will we be able to go back home then?” She looks to Remus, eyes wide, and backtracks, promising that she loves his flat, really, she does, but Kreacher is all alone, and she doesn’t want him to be sad. Sirius scowls, opens his mouth to say something undoubtably rude, but Remus interjects.

“We’ll see, love,” he says, serving her breakfast. He makes her tea extra milky, hands her the sugar bowl to distract her.

“Be nice to have an actual place,” Sirius says. “Somewhere with a garden.”

“Not too many flowers,” Harri says through a mouthful of eggs. Remus gives her a look and she immediately shuts her mouth, pointedly chewing before she swallows. “And no tulips!”

So, the morning goes, fantasizing about their ideal house. Sirius suggests somewhere near the sea, Remus wants the privacy of big trees and hills, and Harri wants space to fly on a real broomstick.

“Your dad made the team his second year,” Sirius is telling her. Harri listens with wide eyes, eagerly absorbing this new information about her parents. Guilt rolls through Remus is a heavy wave. She never asks about James and Lily, but it’s clear how badly she wants to. “Best chaser the school had in ages. Made captain in our fifth year, it was brilliant!”

“Did you play too, Padfoot?” Harri asks.

“Nah, I wasn’t as mad about it as Prongs—that’s your dad—was,” Sirius explains. “I was commentator for a bit, before I got sacked.”

Remus bursts out laughing, the memory coming back to him. Sirius had gotten the job their fourth year and had lasted three games before McGonagall had forcefully sacked him, all while the much-anticipated Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game was still going on. Too much Gryffindor pride and anti-Slytherin rhetoric and not enough focus on the game. Actually, Sirius hadn’t even spoken about the game, and had instead rambled on about the Slytherin team, ranking them based on general prat-ness and git-like behavior.

“Can we go to a game?” Harri asks shyly. “I love my set, I promise, but I want to see the real thing, if that’s alright.” That was another thing: Harri was carefully not to outright ask for things, lest he or Sirius got angry with her. It hadn’t happened, of course, but Remus always seethes at the implication of what the Dursley’s were really like.

“Of course, Hazza!” Sirius agrees easily. “It’ll be brilliant! We’ll go see the real Puddlemore, and the Holyhead Harpies, you’ll love them!”

Remus grins, watching Sirius come to life—more than he has in a while. Just a while longer, and they could have Sirius back again. Remus can see flickers of the boy he loves in the man in front of him, lasting longer and longer the more enthused Sirius becomes. Contentment spreads through him, and Remus wishes this could be his life, forevermore.

*

A three-week recess is simply not long enough. There are three days until the next trial, which Abbott has promised will be a simple one. Apparently, Petunia Dursley had promised to testify. Abbott had gone to great lengths to get the Wizengamot to accept testimony from a muggle.

Harri is sitting at the table, explaining the strange intricacies of muggle Halloween, and Sirius is trying to listen, he really is, but it’s difficult to even considering doing anything but wallow on Halloween. Prongs would hate that, but Prongs isn’t here, and that _is_ the great tragedy. It’s cruel, considering it was his favorite holiday.

Moony shoots him odd looks now and then. They haven’t talked to Harri about when her parents died and how, but they’ll have to now, and time is running out.

Harri stops talking, and fixes him with one of her strange, beyond-her-years looks. It’s a rare occurrence, but it unnerves Sirius whenever it happens.

“Are you sad, Padfoot?” she asks, her small lips pulling down at the corners.

“Not sad, just…” There’s no point in beating around the bush, actually. “Darling, Halloween night is actually the night your parents died.”

Harri’s expression goes ashen, her entire frame freezes, and Sirius immediately wishes he could take it back. Her eyes—Lily’s eyes—fill with tears and her throat works. He wants to pull her into her arms, soothe her, but he too, goes stock still. Moony is looking between them in alarm, and Sirius can see the same panic in him.

Prongs would know what to say, Sirius thinks miserably. Prongs always knew what to say to people, knew how to make his voice gentle and loving, like the world couldn’t hurt you as badly as long as Prongs was talking to you.

“How did they die?” she asks in a small voice. “Did Wormtail do it?” For a moment, all Sirius can do is stare helplessly at Moony as he stares back, just as lost. Moony takes a careful breath, crouching down next to her chair. Sirius frowns in sympathy; his joints must be so painful, this close to a full moon. 

“No, Harri,” he says quietly. “A dark wizard did. Not all wizards are good, and this one… wanted power. He hurt your parents to get it.” It’s an oversimplified explanation, and it’s clear to see in Harri’s frown that she doesn’t like the deliberate repression of detail. She stares at the two of them, like she’s deliberating, then nods, expression crumpling.

Sirius does hold her, after that, carefully pulling her into his lap. Harri burrows close, and to his horror, he realizes she’s crying. Sirius rocks her a little, shooting another helpless look to Moony. Harri’s silent, and the eerie quiet of the kitchen is painful.

The only indication that she’s crying is the steady dampness of his shirt and her shaking frame. Sirius is a little surprised, in the worst way; he didn’t learn to cry silently until he was twelve.

The next two days are just as painful. Harri was clearly too young to be told with such bald frankness what happened, and Sirius doesn’t know how to apologize. It was such a stupid mistake, he doesn’t even know why he did it. He should have stayed quiet, indulged Harri in her muggle Halloween traditions and told her later, when she was old enough.

Halloween morning is strange. Harri stays in bed for a long time, well past ten, which is particularly unusual for her. Moony gets up to wake her, decides against it, then makes himself a cup of tea a total of three times.

Finally, she makes her way out to the kitchenette.

“Padfoot, Moony,” she starts, twisting her fingers like a scolded child. “Can we… can we go see them? My parents. Are they in a cemetery?”

Sirius doesn’t have the words for her. Truth is, that was the only saving grace of being locked away. He’d never had to face his worst mistake. It is shameful in the extreme and showing Harri that side of him feels too raw, too painful. He doesn’t want to disappoint her.

Moony recovers first, glancing at Sirius.

“They are,” he says. Sirius is so, _so_ fucking thankful for Moony. “In a place called Godric’s Hollow. That’s where you lived, before. We can go see them, pay our respects.”

Harri nods, considering this new information. She has a thoughtful frown on her face, lips pursed as she thinks.

“Do you…” she swallows hard. “Do you think they miss me? Wherever they are?”

Sirius cracks at that, eye blurring up with hot tears. He nods weakly, holding his arms out. At once Harri is there, her thin arms wound around his neck. He clutches at her, trying to remember to breathe. Merlin, he needs to be better than this, be better for her.

“Of course, they do,” he says finally, voice a little croaky.

Of course, Harri,” Moony echoes. “They loved you most, with everything they had.”

For a while, they all just cling to each other, remembering James and Lily, desperately wishing they were here. Prongs would’ve adored his clever, wonderful, kind little girl. Sirius swallows hard, pulling away enough to let Harri breathe, though she remains where she is, face buried in his neck.

He will just have to love her doubly, for Prongs.

“Shall we go get ready?” Moony is the first one to slip back into pragmatism. “Sirius, you’ll have to owl Abbott, to see if it’s alright.”

“Better if I just floo,” Sirius says, grimacing. He hates floo messages; ash gets everywhere, and while the fire never burns, it’s always uncomfortably warm and dry. Moony nods, taking Harri to get her ready.

Abbott is, as always understanding. Somehow, he’d known they’d want to make a trip.

“It’s a pilgrimage,” Abbott explains. “Loads of people do it, every year, though, they go to the statue of the Potters, not the actual graves.”

Prongs would’ve loved the idea of the statue, it would’ve gone straight to his head, Sirius thinks fondly, heart aching. It’s a strange pleasure-pain to think of Prongs and Lils, and while Sirius refrained from it in Azkaban, it comes to him whether he’s prepared for it or not.

They leave just as the sun is setting, Harri on Moony’s back and Padfoot the dog in his arms. Moony’s face goes pale with the effort of it, but he shakes it off.

Godric’s Hollow, as predicted, is bustling with activity. It’s jarring to take in the happy atmosphere when they are so somber themselves. Wizards and muggles alike mingle, going this way and that.

The statue is nice, though it doesn’t look James or Lily in the slightest. Harri stares at it in silence for a long time, clutching Sirius’s hand.

“Dunno why they made Prongs look like a prat,” Sirius drawls, panicking a little at the sight of it. It’s a stupid thing to say, bordering on disrespectful, but it pulls a snort out of Moony and a smile from Harri.

“Dad doesn’t look that,” Harri agrees. “Neither does mum.”

Wizards gather all around it, signing the statue with pens, markers, quills, and wands. Miraculously, none of them notice him, or Harri. They watch for a while, as people make their pilgrimage.

When the crowds begin to thin out and darkness has settled over the town, they make their way to the cemetery.

It’s much quieter here, removed from the chaos of town square. There is a single other person, on the far end of the cemetery.

Sirius’s breath catches at the sight of the grave. James and Lily had been laid to rest together. Harri steps up, tracing over the names. Sirius is suddenly thankful that he can’t see her face, and immensely shameful as well.

“Prongs always loved Halloween,” Sirius says softly. “We did our best pranks then.”

Moony lets out a soft, melancholy laugh. His expression is bittersweet, fond and pained all at once.

“Remember the year with the pumpkins?” Moony asks. Their fourth year, the boys had enchanted several huge pumpkins, nicked from Hagrid’s own pumpkin patch, to chase people around, spewing seeds and guts at those who got too close.

“Happy Halloween Mum and Dad,” Harri says softly. “I miss you.” Moony pulls her close to him, letting her lean against his legs. Sirius can nearly hear James, whinging about bloody boring this all is, his head pitched back, neck lolling whilst his glasses slipped down his nose. It’s a strange thought, a bit out of place, but it’s there.

The marauders legacy can never die, Prongs wouldn’t allow it. Sirius elbows Moony, carefully to keep clear of Harri’s head. Moony shoots him a sharp look, annoyed, but a bit intrigued. Sirius tilts his head towards the statue.

“For Prongs?” Sirius asks. Comprehension dawns on Moony’s face, and he makes a face, half mournful and half smiling.

“It’s disrespectful,” Moony says slowly. “Prongs would adore it.”

*

Mary Macdonald comes to the grave every year, but this year, she nearly couldn’t bring herself to. It’s been a tumultuous year, painful with all the news.

The idea that Sirius Black, charming, lovely, witty co-prince of Gryffindor tower, was a death eater was vicious, and like everyone who knew him, ripped her to shreds. She hadn’t even been able to keep in touch with Remus because of it.

Now, she doesn’t know what to do with the misplaced anger and grief inside her. She’s been following the news of the kidnapping of Harri Potter carefully, praying with everything she had that the little girl was alright.

The, the trials broke, and Mary could hardly bring herself to read the articles in full. Sirius was innocent. She should have known.

Halloween is unseasonably warm, especially this late at night. She makes her way through Godric’s Hollow purposefully, ignoring the dregs of mischievous muggle teenagers mucking about.

She has a bouquet of lilies and baby’s breath in her arms, read to lay at the statue—going to the grave itself is far too painful—but she stops short at the sight of it.

There are a pair of great big antlers mounted on either side of what it supposed to be James Potter’s head. A smile breaks over her face despite herself, and all she can do is stare. Gently, she places the flowers down. This feels uncannily like a prank.

A marauders prank.

The spirit of James Potter lives on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think about the ending? I was going for levity, a hopefulness-in-the-face-of-grief type thing, but I’m not completely sold on it. Let me know if you think it needs work, and what you thought over all. Till next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, and I’ll see you next week, updates every Wednesday!


End file.
